


Differently

by Cliodna_Queen_Of_The_Banshee



Series: The Fem Series [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Smallville, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Clark Kent and Lex Luthor Reconciliation, F/M, Female Clark Kent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14567550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliodna_Queen_Of_The_Banshee/pseuds/Cliodna_Queen_Of_The_Banshee
Summary: The Kents are discussing their newfound toddler age daughter the night of the meteor shower when they hear a strange sound at the back door. They open the door and the storm cellar doors have been thrown wide open. But not by a human. Not even by a Kryptonian... (Lara wasn't about to let her only daughter grow up alone.) Fem Clark.A weird amalgamation of all the fem Clark and Smallville AU ideas I've ever seen and liked. Not quite like the other stories in this series. Eventual crossover with Nolan's Batman.Eventual Lex/Clark, Bruce/Clark. Bruce/Clark Ending. Lex Redemption. Lex/Chloe Ending.Updates will be random. Three in one day? One in a month? Who knows?! Just enjoy the ride!





	1. Spider Knowledge

Chapter One: Spider Knowledge

Jonathan and Martha Kent were sitting at their kitchen table, watching as their new toddler daughter played in the room beyond them on the floor with some of Jonathan’s old childhood toys. It was evening in the Kansas farmhouse, the evening of the meteor shower. Sheriff Ethan had just left their home.

“We told the Sheriff we’re going to name her after one of my old childhood friends, but he raised a good point - what are we going to call her?” asked Martha, troubled.

“It’s true we can’t back out now,” Jonathan admitted thoughtfully, frowning at the tiny dark-haired girl in the overly large T shirt playing quietly on the floor before them. “Not now that we’ve told the Sheriff we’ve adopted her from Metropolis City…”

“I didn’t mean to play the cards like that,” said Martha apologetically.

Jonathan sighed, smiled wearily and took her hand. “I know,” he said. “So - names.” He shook his head as if to clear it and straightened.

“The only name I could think of before the Sheriff was my maiden surname, Clark. I just… froze. And no girl deserves to carry around a name like Clark. Just imagine her having to go through that for the rest of her life,” said Martha. “It’s why I fudged a little bit and just said we’re naming her after one of my old childhood friends.”

“It should be a classy lady’s name - like yours,” said Jonathan helpfully. “My mother was always fond of old actresses…”

“Old actresses, huh…?” Martha brightened. “What about Greta? After Greta Garbo?”

“Greta… Greta Kent…” Jonathan played around with the name in his head, looking thoughtfully and discerningly over at the tiny dark-haired girl. “I like it,” he admitted. “Middle name?”

“We have to add something in there with some old-fashioned country charm… This is Smallville, Kansas, after all,” said Martha. “Where she’ll be growing up.”

“I’m thinking some sort of virtue or emotion word,” said Jonathan. “Joy, Hope, Faith… Verity,” he suddenly said quietly. “What about Verity? It’s a bit of a different name, like Greta, but it means ‘truthfulness.’”

“Isn’t that a bit ironic?” said Martha wryly.

“Not ironic,” Jonathan insisted, arguing. “Just because she has a secret past doesn’t mean she can’t stand for things like truth and honesty. Isn’t that one of the things we’re going to try to teach her?”

“True…” said Martha slowly. She smiled warmly, softly, and looked over at Greta. “I like it,” she said. “Greta Verity Kent.

“Now… what do we do about her birthday?”

But just then, they heard a strange noise outside. An odd sort of metallic clacking sound. They straightened, frightened and serious after the day’s events. Jonathan took a deep breath, steeled himself, and stood.

“Jonathan -“ Martha said hoarsely, putting a hand on his arm, and even Greta looked up curiously from her play. But Jonathan had already walked to the screen door out into the back lot and jerked it open.

The Kents’ eyes widened and their faces went white. The doors into the storm cellar were thrown wide open.

And the storm cellar, which they’d closed tight, was where they’d stashed the spaceship.

But it didn’t appear any human was out there. Instead, the Kents slowly looked down… as a tiny little spider-like metallic device crawled across the lot and through the back door into their yellow kitchen filled with warm honey oak wood. It stopped near the china hutch and settled itself down, silvery but glowing faintly blue.

It was obviously not of this world.

Jonathan and Martha were just staring, wide-eyed, silent, and terrified… but tiny dark-haired Greta from her place on the living room floor was weirdly calm. She put down her toys slowly next to the old antique wood piano, staring at the spider-like device with wide, glowing blue, and unblinking eyes.

Suddenly, the spider convulsed - Jonathan and Martha gasped - and a hologram appeared floating above the spider-like device. She was a tall and stately blonde woman with long, wavy hair in a foreign-looking white outfit. Her blue eyes were exactly the same as Greta’s, her skin like translucent ice.

“Hello,” she said, calmly and pleasantly, a strange lilt in her voice. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her. The hologram paused as if waiting for a response.

“… Hello?” said Jonathan at last in bewilderment.

The woman nodded and continued, “You are the Kents of Earth, correct?”

Jonathan and Martha shared a narrow-eyed glance. “Correct…” Jonathan confirmed slowly.

“Very good. And you are housing my daughter?”

Jonathan and Martha chanced a glance over at Greta, who was smiling up at the woman as if her voice was already familiar. As if her voice was from the ship.

“There was a meteor shower,” said Jonathan. “We found her out in a field. My wife couldn’t bear the idea of taking her to the authorities for experiments, so we brought her home. The town Sheriff came over by surprise to check up on us, and we lied and said we’d adopted her from the nearest Metropolis City.

“So now I guess she’s ours. Our plan was just… to fake her being human. I… I stashed the spaceship she came with down in the storm cellar. Are… are there any more of her?” Jonathan asked, wincing.

“No,” said the woman solemnly. “Just the one.”

“We were going to name her Greta. Greta Verity Kent. Is… is that okay?” Martha asked desperately - as if looking for some strange form of acceptance from this hologram biological mother.

The mother blinked in surprise. “It is a fine name,” she admitted curiously, “if very Terran. She would need a name here, would she not? And I am not an expert in such things.”

Martha relaxed as her expertise was deferred to in at least one area.

“In any case, her name from her own planet was Kala-El. Kala, if one was just using her given name, as with family and friends. And I heard you mention her birthday?

“It’s February 28. I accessed Terran calendars using my computer database to change over the calculation,” said the hologram mother, still in that same pleasant, calm lilt.

“That’s wonderful to know -“ Martha began warmly, but she winced as Jonathan’s voice came out much harsher.

“Look. What the hell is going on here?” he began. “My wife really wants this girl, and I know we’ve always wanted a child but we’ve never been able to have one. But how do I know you people aren’t planning on killing us all?” he finished, snapping. “I may be a poor Kansas farmer, but that doesn’t make me stupid.”

The mother paused - and bowed her head in a single nod. “You are correct,” she said solemnly. “It does not.

“Very well, then. The explanation.

“We come from the planet Krypton - an ice planet full of advanced silvery and glowing blue technology, with a strict and formal warrior culture and traditional white garb. We worship our red sun, the thing that brought us our first scientific progress. Ever since, we have worshipped through our sun god pure reason and logic. Our planet had no atmosphere, so we don’t need to breathe and our sky was always one of space. Many of our people see emotion as a hindrance and an interference - though we greatly prize warrior bravery.

“There is much to learn about the Kryptonian mind that is different from the Terran mind, though on the outside we do look and function much the same as humans. Some of what Kala would have learned as a Kryptonian is cultural, which of course does not apply here - but many other matters are biologically inherent in her brain.

“It is also worth noting that because of Earth’s yellow sun and different atmosphere, my daughter will have extraordinary powers and abilities here that she would not have had on Krypton. I have a whole database that has studied, compiled, and documented these differences.

“Krypton is gone. This is the most important thing to note. Kala, your Greta, is a refugee - the only known surviving member of a dead species. Our apologies for the meteor strike. There was… very little time to prepare her landing before our planet was destroyed. This is why she is all alone, in a tiny little spaceship. Because we are all dead. Our explosion… pushed her out of our range.

“I, too,” said the mother with deadly seriousness, her face and voice eerie, “am dead.”

Jonathan and Martha were staring, wide-eyed and pale. Martha gasped. “Then how…?” Jonathan managed. “How are you…?”

“My husband Jor, in addition to being a Kryptonian warrior for one of the warring city states - the city state of Kandor - and as well as being a noble on the Kandor council, was one of Krypton’s premiere scientists. He invented the prison system known as the phantom zone, a harsh alternate reality wilderness that all criminals were sent to - he successfully brought our crime rate down to zero. 

“Not a nice thing, but a Kryptonian thing. Breaking rules and laws is irrational. For better or for worse, Jor was a true Kryptonian and he saw this creation of order as one of his greatest accomplishments.

“He saw the coming Apocalypse before it happened. We were harvesting our planet’s core for more energy and power, constant civil war was destroying our culture from the inside, and great galactic cosmic forces were planning a sweep impending for our entire solar system - great red sun and all.”

Here, the mother looked sad; she bowed her head.

“So we sent our daughter away to another planet - in secret - and as it turned out, right before our planet’s impending implosion. Jor thought a mother should be with her daughter to raise her, so he uploaded my brain into a device locked into the tiny life boat spaceship’s computer. I transferred over everything my actual self found relevant, including - unusual for a Kryptonian even in our family - my inherent sense of love and morality.”

The mother smiled almost apologetically.

“I was never a very good Kryptonian.

“But my name is Lara.” She straightened. “Lara-El. And I am here to help raise my daughter, to protect her anonymity and to teach her in secret the ways of her dead planet, Krypton - in the hopes that she might have children with a human herself one day.

“Amongst other things? I can teach her about her Kryptonian brain. I can teach her the Kryptonian language, both speaking and geometric pictograph writing, that she can then practice with me. I can teach her how to perfectly control her basic powers of speed and strength from a young age, and I can help her master new powers when they come to her as she gets older. I can be constantly with her as a supercomputer in the form of a sleek silver watch she can wear on her wrist. And I can give her accessories and adornments made of a special Kryptonian metal that can hypnotize people into… overlooking her, so to speak, when it comes to the important things. The better for anonymity.

“But of course, you will also be important. I want her to… blend in here. Make friends and family and have a life here on Earth. I just believe in… a more proactive approach than my husband Jor did.”

Here, Lara smiled.

“It’s a good thing,” said Martha wearily. “We weren’t quite sure how we were going to manage all this without help. And if you will allow us to teach her humanity and have human experiences as well…”

She shared a glance with Jonathan, who looked torn. At last, he nodded. 

“It might be the best of both worlds for everyone involved,” he admitted gruffly.

Lara gave him a surprisingly sympathetic, knowing look. “Of course, you will be included in these early lessons as well,” she told the parents, who looked up in surprise. Lara smiled. “Your Greta… do you not want to learn, as she does when she is very young, how her brain is different from yours?”

“That… would be a huge help,” Jonathan admitted in a strangled voice.

Lara did the strangest thing. She actually chuckled.

“Very well. Then these early lessons will be in two parts, for all three of you in afternoon sessions here in the house with me. I firmly believe knowledge is power. It is the Kryptonian way.

“First, I will teach you how all Kryptonian minds are universal. But the second and most interesting part is that our red sun god, we believed, assigned each person special traits according to their actual birthday. In Greta’s case, February 28.

“So I will be teaching you both wellsprings of knowledge.”

“You really want her to understand herself but fit in here, don’t you?” Martha asked wonderingly.

“Of course.” Lara smiled. “I am her mother. So did her father; I just… put more of an emphasis on adding my parenting instincts into the computer program than he would have.”

Again, she sounded oddly apologetic.

“You know, you keep talking about how you’re a bad Kryptonian, but here’s an idea. Maybe you were just built for this. You seem like the perfect crossover between a Kryptonian and a human. Let’s hope your daughter takes after you,” said Martha seriously.

Lara looked up - and brightened. “Really?” she said eagerly. “You think so?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Jonathan dryly. “Definitely some human in there.” He chuckled himself when Lara blushed.

Martha smiled quietly to herself and knew that this meant Lara had been accepted at last.

Martha walked over and knelt down before Greta, smiling. “What do you think, Greta?” she asked warmly. “Learning about Kryptonians?”

Greta cooed and toddled over to Martha, who wrapped her in a warm hug.

Lara watched, smiling equally warmly but a little sadly. “Yes,” she said softly, “Jor was right to aim for these people.”

“That’s right. You said you wanted us to find her specifically?” Jonathan asked curiously. “How would you even know about us?”

“Oh, Jor visited Earth himself long ago. It is not so uncommon,” said Lara, her tone still casual as the Kent couple stared. “Our technology is far in advance of yours but we look just like humans, do we not? Perfect for blending in.

“Yes, Jor visited Earth, and I believe he met your parents,” she told Jonathan, who stared in surprise. “We age slower than you. Anyway, your parents, they took him in when he was on the outs. He told me the Kents are good people. That there are good people in Smallville, Kansas,” said Lara firmly. “He said anyone raised by your parents will do the right thing with our daughter in the end, and not turn her over to become a lab experiment.

“He wanted you instead to give our growing daughter lessons in being human, here in a remote rural area with less chance of being recognized by a fearful and angry society at large. It was his dying wish. That his daughter would live… a happy life, in spite of being different. Mine, too,” she added as an afterthought.

Jonathan sighed. “Well,” he admitted, “I guess I can’t deny that. Let’s do it.”

Greta let out a soft little cheer. Lara smiled; Martha hugged Greta and laughed.

“Let me tell you, it adds a whole new meaning to that old quote, though,” said Jonathan seriously, bewildered. “Sometimes I think the greatest sign that there is intelligent life in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us yet.

“All that time, a warrior people with advanced space technology and a disarmingly human biology who was empowered by our sun and atmosphere and was from a frigid ice planet, you could have come here and taken us over at any time and you… didn’t?”

“What a human question,” said Lara smoothly, smiling thinly and for a moment pure Kryptonian. “Of course not. We had our own planet to deal with. And we believed you should… figure things out for yourself.” She shrugged. “Of course, now that we have a refugee here…

“Things may turn out… differently.”


	2. The Kryptonian Brain

Chapter Two: The Kryptonian Brain

And so the sessions began. Greta would sit, as she grew into an older child away on the Kent farm in secret, with her parents in the kitchen as hologram Lara stood smiling and teaching in front of them. Sometimes she brought forth a hologram metal screen in which glowing blue writing would appear, as a kind of chalkboard to make her points.

Greta had begun looking more like Lara as she grew - long waves of black hair, big glowing blue eyes, translucent ice-like skin, even an unusual capacity to withstand both heat and cold. Lara had said that some Kryptonians had black skin, but all somehow shared that starkly colored, ice-like, translucent quality.

“Now. I am of course also teaching Kala - Greta, sorry - things like Kryptonian language, history, culture, and how to control her supernatural speed and strength to perfect, exacting quality.

“But these particular sessions will focus on Greta’s different neurology. They will be a window into understanding her growing personality and brain. As is typical for a Kryptonian, she has shown herself to be incredibly intellectually advanced of a human, especially when encouraged, making this process somewhat easier.”

The Kents nodded and glanced over at Greta, who was sitting smooth and serious listening intently to every word - much in a way a human of her age never could have. She was very tightly emotionally controlled and ordered, an unusual small girl.

Not evil or malicious. Just unusual.

“And so. We begin. We start with what is universal to all Kryptonians.

“First is the most basic difference between Kryptonian speaking and human speaking - besides the obvious difference in language. Kryptonians can learn any language to near perfection, so that is actually not our problem when it comes to human communication.

“Here is our actual problem. Roughly eighty percent of the human race talks primarily in what is called concrete terms. Roughly eighty percent of the Kryptonian population, including probably Greta, talks primary in what is called abstract terms.

“Let me explain.

“We can all talk about both ideas and real life experiences. What I mean by concrete humans is that most humans talk first and foremost in what might be called real life experiences. They can go into the world of ideas, can even enjoy going into the world of ideas, but it takes effort for them to do so. They expend energy doing it.

“Abstract people are the exact opposite. Most Kryptonians talk first and foremost in what might be called ideas. They can go into the more mundane world of real life experiences, can even enjoy it, but it takes effort for them to do so. They expend energy doing it. Small talk and everyday subjects tax them.

“And most Kryptonians are introverts, so also, by the way, does social conversation itself. Again, they can enjoy conversation - but they expend energy being social. They are more tired afterwards.

“This makes that quintessentially human small talk chatter something of a trial for us. We dislike the irrelevant, the trivial, and the redundant. We do not like to waste words, especially not on things that to us seem obvious.”

“I see one big problem there,” Jonathan voiced.

Lara gave a secretive smile. “Yes?”

“What if what is obvious to you… isn’t obvious to us?”

“Exactly. That’s why these lessons are so important,” said Lara, nodding. “Kryptonians are excellent at emotional suppression, for example, so we can seem uncaring. Kryptonians are all about control, so we might feel the urge to control circumstances surrounding weaker humans we love in order to keep them safe.

“In both cases the Kryptonian is being caring. But the human doesn’t see it. 

“Similarly, we decide our own tightly held moral and ethical code, and we never stray from that once. We decide on an ethical code that seems logical to us. Nothing and no one can make us doubt it. To doubt would not make sense, and would not meld with our sense of control. A more emotional and changeable human might not understand this. For these reasons, among other things, we may seem stubborn, cold, or self righteous in our pursuit of what we simply see as the most logical correct thing. 

“We do not like people who stray from rules or ethical codes, and we especially don’t like people who don’t make sense. They irritate us.”

“That can even apply more closely to individuals, though,” said Martha worriedly. “What might be called meaningless ceremonies matter a lot to humans - as do overtly spoken words, like ‘I love you’.”

“Correct. If our caring seems obvious to us, we do not like to be redundant and so to seem more human… might not occur to us,” said Lara hesitantly, glancing over at Greta - who gave a single nod to say she was listening seriously and closely. “This is not to say we have no sense of compassion, warmth, or love. We are not robots. But… the subtle nuances of human speech sometimes evade us. Lying, for example, we do not understand in the slightest. We are very blunt.

“But actually, Kryptonians have a neurological emotional depth that humans are not capable of. It is why we became so good at stoical emotional suppression. We are deeply capable of feelings like love and anger and despair - underneath the surface, more so even than a human. It may be, though most Kryptonians would not have admitted to it, why we value warrior bravery so very much.”

“Bravery is feeling fear and doing something anyway because you deem it to be worth the risk,” Jonathan interpreted. “The quintessentially emotional act.”

“Exactly.” Lara nodded. Then she added sheepishly: “I used to get in great trouble for making points like that. I am abstract, even an introvert, but too warm and emotional. Too focused on behavior. I don’t make… ‘sense.’

“In any case, because of these traits, we do not like to be redundant or state what seems obvious to us or what matters very little to us, and because we exist in the world of quiet and ideas, we can have a rather terse, compact, and technical style of speech. We like to be specific, definitions are important to us, and we admire in any writing and art form an over arching larger structure. We are rather sarcastic, we don’t like making errors, but we are interested in the speculative - in the theories and ideas, in the not seen and the not yet.

“We are excellent debaters and we enjoy arguing, but we like to be coherent in our arguments. That we make sense is important to us. We tend to have a sometimes formidable vocabulary, especially in technical areas we specialize in intellectually, and we prefer to seem rather unemotional and quiet when we talk.

“Now as I said, we tend to have our own tightly held and individually decided ethical code. And we do stick to that. However, while we believe in following laws because it makes logical sense and we are not law breakers… sometimes that something is useful and efficient matters more to us than whether or not it is strictly socially acceptable. If something is not against the law, is socially acceptable, but makes no sense to us or our system and has no use for us… we may be reluctant to follow it. 

“As Martha said, social ceremonies, for example, sometimes do not make sense to us. And we are not necessarily shy about that. Tidiness is another thing that tends to bring us little concern and make little logical sense to us. Custom and tradition are not first and foremost in our minds. Remember, our god prized intellect and logic. Even certificates, awards, and degrees are of little overt interest to us.

“However, with that being said, we are not snobbish. Every idea we hear, no matter who it’s from, we test for usefulness. We are open minded and willing to at least entertain all ideas from everywhere - even if we go our own way after hearing them. The trick with getting us to do something is to explain through our ethical framework why doing it makes the most sense. Debate is an excellent thing to cultivate when raising a Kryptonian.”

“Great,” Martha muttered, and Jonathan smirked wryly, already looking somewhat weary and exasperated.

“In intellect, Kryptonians are excellent strategists. They are deeply focused in efficiency, order, and tightly run organization. Are we fun to work with? Not exactly, but as leaders we get things done. We are fascinated by subjects like science, philosophy, and law. We tend to be rather technology obsessed, which is not always a bad thing - we tend to be very science and technology useful and literate. In general, we are intrigued by systems - anything that can be shown to have some technical system piques our interest.

“Our best creativity comes in twisting systems to our best effect. That is how we use our imaginations. This can apply to anything from technological design… to a deeply specific form of artwork twisted to look new within established rules.

“Kryptonians are all essentially pragmatic beings. We treat everything, including social convention, according to practicality - whether or not the means will carry our intended ends, so to speak. We have a horror, for example, of repeating errors. It is even greater than our horror of making errors in the first place. Trying always to be calm, steady, and largely remote and unemotional, trying always to be logical, we especially hate making errors in important matters such as ideals and debates. Our calm, icy, all knowing way of arguing can be off-putting or even infuriating to others unlike us.

“Kryptonians are also essentially skeptical beings. We believe everything should be seen to be in error until it proves it is not. We believe doubt is the best way to avoid the error we fear so much. Something has to prove itself as worthy to us.

“In looking back on our troubles, however, we tend to be unusually good at dealing with past setbacks. We believe every trouble is simply relative to one’s frame of reference, another lesson in calm and practical pragmatics and philosophy, and we also tend to feel ourselves as entirely alone in the world, as each person’s frame of reference being an island unto itself. So in a sense, if Greta does grow up feeling alone, this is not uncommon - every person both idea based and brain based does. She should channel this instead of fight it; it is an innate part of her personality. The healthy Kryptonian is not afraid to be their own unique island - though we do enjoy others’ company, of course, and all sentient beings enjoy feeling understood and related to. Just because we are a unique island doesn’t mean we aren’t social beings.

“The ways Kryptonians see space and time are more complex, but I can say that they are very specific. Specific, precise intervals and positioning are important to us; we don’t see our place, for example, as some intuitive thing like ‘the present.’ We are at this place, at this time. We are always specific.

“Kryptonians pride themselves on their ingenuity. They set themselves to mastering tasks, and in this sense they can never truly ‘play.’ Each thing they master is a way to become better at something, more inventive. They set ever higher standards and bars for themselves. And for this reason Kryptonians can be extraordinarily self critical.

“Their self respect is based around being autonomous. Kryptonians are happiest when they allow themselves to be their own people - to live by their own ideas, to test all other ideas offered to them, to think for themselves, to be individuals. It is… interesting in a race that prizes order, logic, and control so much. They despise being dependent on anyone, and similarly they don’t respect dependency in others. No matter how infuriating that independence may be to them personally, and no matter how snappish and irritable they get, deep down a Kryptonian always respects independence in another.

“When a Kryptonian is most confident in themselves is when they have the greatest willpower. Resolution and resolve is deeply important to us. We make contracts with ourselves and we never, ever break them - lest we lose all confidence in our own abilities or even our own self worth. This is part of the reason why we dread loss of control. Something like sexual desire can interfere with this determined, brain based willpower, and to be quite frank we despise that.”

“You’re nerds,” Jonathan suddenly interrupted. Lara sighed and Greta gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “What?” he said defensively. “You are! It’s not a bad thing! Nerds usually end up in important places.” He shrugged philosophically. “God knows you sound smarter than I am,” he added in quiet bewilderment.

“I worry, though,” said Martha in concern. “What I’m getting here is the impression of someone who is more human than we might think deep down, but doesn’t like to reveal this and is extraordinarily hard on themselves. Is that healthy?”

“It is healthy for us,” said Lara simply, sharing a glance with her biological daughter. “It’s how we naturally are. We can’t be any other way because we don’t know how to be.

“Some other things we value being: Calm, or emotionally steady - some would even say unemotional. Reasonable - testing everything through the filter of logic and our own decided ethical system. High achieving. Knowledgeable. And respected. We love being respected by others just as much as we love being talented in our chosen fields - and never let a more logic and emotion-lacking obsessed Kryptonian tell you otherwise. We do want to be seen as talented and worthy of respect - just in our own fields and on our own terms. It ties in somewhat to being seen as knowledgeable.

“And finally, in romance Kryptonians greatly value a melding of the minds. Someone who is intelligent and can meet their own value system - bravery, independence, willpower - is the single most important thing they need in selecting a partner. In parenting, they care greatly about allowing their children room to grow and be their own individuals - just as they value being allowed to be individuals themselves as children.”

Here, Lara gave a meaningful look, and Martha and Jonathan shared a glance.

“And finally, as leaders Kryptonians are visionaries. We have a set idea and vision, a specific picture with specific goals and a specific layout - right at the start of our quest. Everything we do is a series of steps to realize those goals and realize that picture. 

“Now, this doesn’t have to be as clinical as it sounds. The goals could be a series of ideals just as easily as they could be a set of scientific steps. But that is how we see everything we set out to do. We have a vision, we set out to meet it. That is how Kryptonians work; it’s how we function.

“And that is the basics of Kryptonian neurology and psychology. But I can add in shades and colors based on my own experiences with the El noble family.

“First, we are planners. We are strategists. We set out to do something, we see obstacles, we make contingency plans to deal with those obstacles. It is how we function best. We are capable of marvelously complex plans, maps, sketches, and leaps of the mind. It is one of the reasons intelligence and a meeting of the minds is so important to us in a partner -“

“And one of the reasons why it would be criminal for her to remain on this farm all her life,” Jonathan added in a mutter, giving his focused, somewhat oblivious daughter a sideways look.

“Although highly capable leaders, we do not take command at first chance. We prefer to stay in the background, working behind the scenes, until we are absolutely needed - usually until others demonstrate a certain inability to lead properly. Once in charge, we are not only calm chess players, but open-minded ones. We will entertain any idea that has promise of meeting our goals, be they ethical or logical.

“We do not care much for authority, degrees, or credentials. We do not believe that these by themselves demonstrate competency. We do not care who the author of the idea is; we care only for the idea itself.

“We tend to be very self confident by adulthood, having usually developed a very strong will. Decisions are quick and decisive; everything must be completed properly; useful ideas carry their own force. We love difficulties - having to respond to problems that require complex and creative solutions. This can take many forms, from an excellent problem-solving businesswoman or scientist… to a warrior somewhat addicted to the feeling of having their mettle tested in pursuit of an ideal.

“Though seclusive, we usually rise to positions of responsibility. We work long and hard for our goals, and expect others to do the same. We tend ordinarily never to be negative - we are more interested in meeting future goals positively than in dwelling on mistakes of the past. We can be very single-minded in pursuit of our goals, however, sometimes perhaps not listening to others as much as we should.

“Efficiency and effectiveness are particularly important to us.

“We are high achievers, and we can drive others as hard as we drive ourselves. This can make others uncomfortable. Those of weaker wills can feel as if we see right through them and even find them incompetent. In reality, we simply have a goal, are working hard to achieve it, and expect others to do the same. We are simply dedicated and loyal. That quality that makes others uncomfortable, the feeling as if we can see right through them, is usually not actually there - though it can be difficult to figure that out with our reason and reserve.

“Luckily, in our most evolved form, criticism does not particularly bother us. But this is important: criticism only ceases to affect us as long as we believe we are in the right. The moment we begin to doubt ourselves, criticism suddenly starts to matter very much. Remember, we despise error just as much as any other Kryptonian, and may even build up mental walls and defenses in order to avoid the idea of being wrong. This is something we must work very hard against, for by building those walls we are actually more likely to err more often.

“In marriage, order and harmony matter to us - but if given the choice, to be perfectly honest, I think your father for example would have preferred someone who disagreed with him if they had the bravery and willpower to do so. He would never admit to it, so determined to be respected, but he loved people who stood up to him. It is why he married me, even though I was so emotional and artistic and he was the very epitome of a Kryptonian noble warrior scientist. El nobles want their partners to be independent. Standing up to us can be formidable, but we need someone who can not only do so - but do it intelligently. All these things matter more to us, I personally believe, than order and harmony in the home.

“Dating can be a trial for us because we tend to be list makers - we have a list of things we want and reject out of hand anyone who doesn’t fit our select criteria. It doesn’t matter in this case what kind of attraction or affection there is. The person doesn’t fit the list. The problem is, these lists of what we supposedly need can often be wrong. This was your father’s problem with me. I didn’t fit his list. He liked me, but I didn’t fit his list, and he tortured himself over it a great deal. It took him what would have been for others a ridiculously long time indeed - about three years - of being in love with the same person to figure out that it wasn’t that I didn’t fit his list of needs. It was that his list of needs themselves had been incorrect. The problem wasn’t me - it was the list. He was then very annoyed with himself for being in error in such an important matter; he had a long conversation with me about this and at the end of what was essentially a self-loathing rant at himself the proposal slipped out.”

Lara was smiling.

“He… he said that he found you inappropriate, that he was very annoyed that he had because you were obviously extremely agreeable… and then he asked you to marry him?” Martha asked disbelievingly.

Lara shrugged cheerfully. “How could I say no to a proposal like that? Besides, he was what every Kryptonian woman wanted - tall, handsome, brave, icy, the perfect warrior, the brilliant scientist - and I gave him the only things he didn’t already have. For once… I had something the other person didn’t. I loved your father, Greta, but thank goodness you have some of me in you and some humans to practice socializing with, because in social skills your father was extremely inept. He would despise me saying he was inept in anything, because he was good at virtually everything else… but it’s true.

“Let’s just say I brought some much needed warmth and emotional arguing to the marriage.

“But in general, the El do tend to ignore small social rituals designed to put others at ease. They don’t tend to like idle chitchat, and they tend to be very hard to read. Make no mistake, not even as a woman is Greta apt to be very outgoing or emotionally expressive. Razor sharp tongued and strong willed? That’s a different matter. Sarcastically humorous, intelligent? Also a different matter.

“Traditionally feminine, outgoing, and expressive…? No. All El femininity is channeled through the El obsession with logic and individuality itself.

“El also tend to have a strong need for privacy, and they do not enjoy physical contact except with a chosen few.

“For all that, however… your father wouldn’t like me telling you this, but perhaps it will be important for your time here on Earth as a human woman.” Lara was frowning down at the floor, thoughtful. “You should know… 

“Your father was deeply emotional underneath the surface, even by Kryptonian standards. He was passionately romantic once he had decided on someone, unendingly loyal right to the death, and… sensitive. Almost hyper-sensitive. The slightest signal of rejection from me could send him into utter despair. He didn’t let himself get attached to anyone… but then after he did finally get attached I became one of his sole focuses in life. He was actually the passionate one; I was the one who had to be steady. All of his loving emotions came unblocked and focused themselves on me. Having that kind of focus on another… can be heavy for them, and not always… in the bad way. Particularly if they are just as dedicated to you. 

“It is the El way of being romantic.

“El also tend to be good parents. We tend to become devoted to our children, they are a major focus in our lives, and we are a good combination of freedom-giving and setting up logical limits. I know I have already hinted at this… but in addition to being secret romantics, El women tend to be good mothers. Unconventional, perhaps, but good.

“And that is as much as I can talk about for both a basic Kryptonian and a basic member of the El house. But there is one other piece to add to this lecture, one immediately relevant.

“There are certain traits that all Kryptonians usually share as children.

“Kryptonian children tend to be calm, cool, and tranquil. This is the good part. They also tend to seem reserved, distant, detached, even lost in their own heads, and emotionally self contained. They feel very strong emotions, but place great effort in holding them back. For a human… I have been told, this may be the not so good part.

“They like exercising their ingenuity. They have a fondness for anything that allows them to build and put things together in toy choices. Video games and technology are also popular choices. And just as Kryptonian children can feel the height of triumph when doing something right, they are prone to sudden explosions of frustration when they get something all wrong.

“This is important for parents to know: Kryptonian children are already hard enough on themselves. They need parents who tell them that they’re intelligent and they do a good job.

“They have vivid imaginations and are prone to irrational fears, particularly those involving a lack of control such as germs, and are quite prone to nightmares. They enjoy collecting things, even simple things like pebbles, rocks, and crystals. They need to be their own people and will always argue for their rights to be individuals and have their own ideas. Their willpower in their own quiet way can be ferocious, merciless, even competitive. They don’t like their personal space being violated and they particularly hate being spanked.

“Social niceties are difficult to teach Kryptonian children, though it can be done. They will argue over family traditions, ceremonies, social rituals, tidiness, and even manners every step of the way, however. They want a logical, rational explanation for why each and every single thing needs to be done. Meaningless awards in childhood really don’t make any more sense to them. And they can be extremely stubborn - they need to stick to an idea and hold it there; it’s how they form a good sense of themselves. They will remember every time authority has failed them, and will only follow the rules that make sense to them. They have an ethical system, but they don’t always understand social nuances.

“They want to know how things work. They love being sat in a seat with buttons to push. They take things apart and put them back together. They ask endless question and have endless ‘whys?’ They are easily interested in reading and in fact are fascinated by stories, their vivid imaginations excited and sparked - science fiction, tales of magic and sorcery, and epics of heroism and achievement are their favorites.

“A final warning: Kryptonians are perfectionists. It’s in their nature. Even the most talented Kryptonians, like those in the House of El, tend to become infuriated with themselves when they are not good at absolutely everything and able to help everyone. What a Kryptonian child needs most - from all three of us - is a parent who pushes back against that and tells them not only that they’re doing well, but more importantly that they’re doing ‘good enough.’”

Lara, Martha, and Jonathan all shared a meaningful look at tiny, solemn, innocent dark-haired Greta.

“Her father’s hair,” said Lara quietly, “and her father’s expression…”

-

So for now, Martha and Jonathan did the best thing they could do. They sat back… and just let Greta be Greta.

A lot of things about her started to make more sense early on - both to the parents and to Greta herself. Greta became a true Kryptonian, rational and stoical and self-contained, brilliant but not particularly emotionally adept. 

Martha and Jonathan started what would become the long and confusing process of teaching Greta what it meant to be human… without getting rid of what made her a Kryptonian. They took an alien and turned her into a particularly scientific, self-contained young human girl.

Most importantly, they taught her love and ethics - and then let her mimic that love back to them in her own reserved way, and let her slowly form her own ethical world. 

One of the most empowering things Greta learned from her lessons with Lara was the self confidence and willpower to be her own person. Her icy reserve became formidable, her sarcastic willpower pronounced, her individuality fierce and defiant. It helped that she had both the controlled abilities, and the knowledge behind them.

The nice thing was that it was tempered with enough self-awareness and concern to realize when she wasn’t quite meeting humans on their level.

Greta felt loved from three more emotional parents, on a quiet, small, and sunny country farm on modern day Earth. This, too, shaped her as a person.

Lara’s predictions did of course come true. Greta was calm and tranquil but also distant and often lost in her own head. She loved busy boards, Legos, erector sets, and chemistry sets. She played video games, and became quickly technologically adept, both in Terran technology and her own native Kryptonian, including through the sleek silver watch on her wrist.

She did experience the height of triumph when she got something right, and explosions of sudden frustrated temper when she got something wrong. Her parents would always calm her down and tell her she’d done her best and she’d done well, and the older Greta got the less these outward explosions happened. She became more self contained and… well, a little more self confident, but on the plus side at least her self confidence hadn’t decreased.

She was prone to nightmares that had to be comforted, vivid imaginings… and irrational germ phobias. She collected various pieces of nature from around the farm and set up the collections around her room. She was competitive, argumentative, and mercilessly individualistic.

She argued with them every step of the way when it came to social graces. First she wanted to know why she had to know how to make food. Then she wanted to know why just being able to microwave something wasn’t sufficient. Then she wanted to know why all Dad ever had to do was order a pizza.

It was like that with everything. Everything was an argument. Family traditions had to be argued for, along with birthdays and holidays and Christmases, trips to Church, room tidiness, table manners. Everything had to be an intellectual debate; everything had to have a reason.

Then there was the first day she came home with a note from the principal. She’d gotten in trouble in elementary school for getting a gold star on one of her report cards and asking in bewilderment, “What the bloody hell is this for?” She had then gotten into an argument with the teacher, insisting she didn’t need a gold star simply for good attendance.

The principal insisted it was the weirdest report home she’d ever had to write, and seemed rather irritated that she’d had to write it in the first place. Her irritation was only outshone by Greta’s, who did not understand why a report had been sent home at all and was quite indignant about it back in the Kent kitchen.

This, too, had required an explanation. Then they’d had to ask her where she’d heard words like “hell” and she’d pointed at her father, who suddenly remembered something he had to do very far away out in the barn as Martha began glaring.

Some times were much more fun. Sitting her in the tractor or the truck and letting her pull or push on things in delight (with supervision). Letting her take pieces of technology apart and try to put them back together. Even the two million, “Whys?” had their own brand of human child nature to them.

And story time… Greta fell in love very early on with story time.

Greta adored stories - and when she was younger, the more fanciful and heroic, the better. True to what Lara had said, Greta also found a fondness for romance stories, and she had a special place in her secret heart for the dark and unconventional ones. They left her sighing in front of the TV with an expression on her face usually not reserved for anything.

All of her childhood storybook crushes were on the cold and brilliant characters. She could be oddly earnest when she wanted to be, a little bit of her shyer and geekier mother’s side appearing in her.

All three of her parents tried to do as they’d promised. They tried to teach Greta not only that she’d done “well” but that she’d done “good enough.”

Greta was also a Kryptonian El in other ways - in her perfectionistic grades, for example, or her reserve and lack of basic social nicety comforts around others. Sarcastic and sharp-tongued in most normal circumstances, Greta became human expressive in a different way, her own special way, and she often wore the bizarre assortment of hodge-podge boyish clothes to match, her hair tied back in a careless ponytail. Kids at school called her “weird” but Greta had learned not to care.

Refreshingly, she also learned something important from her birth mother - the lesson of compassion and forgiveness towards humans for their foibles, in the same way Greta wanted forgiveness for her own. She could be serious, blunt and matter of fact and puzzled… but surprisingly quiet and wise.

But Lara wasn’t done. She wasn’t even done talking about all Kryptonians.

“My final piece on things that are universal to all Kryptonians,” she said one day with relish, “… is romance.

“And then we move on to what is almost more interesting - Kryptonian religious birth predictions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that this is a lot of talking. If it's any consolation, I think one more long chapter and the talking part will be over with. Right now I'm just showing how Greta's personality would be changed by Lara's presence on a practical level.


	3. Woman of a Thousand Faces

Chapter Three: Woman of a Thousand Faces

“Okay,” said Lara as they’d all sat down in front of her in the kitchen again. Her blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “So. Kryptonian romance.”

“We sort of already covered that,” said Jonathan, who had gotten better at arguing since starting to raise his daughter. “Some of it might be cultural, which would be irrelevant here. And isn’t it a little early to learn about this anyway?”

He seemed uncomfortable having to talk over gushy subjects like romance. Martha smiled, dryly amused, and Greta rolled her eyes.

“I’ll take each point in turn,” said Lara readily, still cheerful. “We did not cover it in enough detail - there are some important things and potential pitfalls that Greta does not yet know. Which brings me to my next point - would you like her to learn about these mistakes after she begins dating? Aren’t the adolescent years hard enough, especially with coming new powers to master?”

“Well, that’s a point,” Jonathan muttered in admittance.

“And as for your last argument, you have me mistaken. I am not talking about Kryptonian courtship rituals. I will only speak of what is relevant here - some things all Kryptonians have in common in relationships that might trip up humans,” said Lara smoothly. “Is this fair enough?”

Jonathan sighed.

“Come on, Dad, suck it up,” said Greta mercilessly.

“Alright. Let’s do it,” said Jonathan reluctantly. Martha was giggling, and Jonathan smiled despite himself.

“Very well, then,” said Lara with a secretive smile. “To begin.

“Kryptonians make wonderful partners in many respects. They are loyal and unusually willing and able to put up with the flaws in their partners - often without even so much as a complaint. They are honest and aboveboard in every communication. Surprisingly perhaps, they do not have any inherent possessive instinct - they care for individual autonomy too much to allow for that.

“And they are warmly sexual, especially once they’ve gotten to know somebody and moved past emotional hurdles - list making or the dislike of loss of control, for example. On a natural, physical level, Kryptonians are excellent at sex. Another surprising point in their favor.”

Jonathan and Martha looked over in alarm at Greta - who seemed calm and unsurprised. “I had to know about all my anatomy early on,” she emphasized matter of factly. “It was all part of controlling my strength and speed powers in… particular ways.” She blushed, a little uncomfortable. “So I’ve already had, you know… The Talk. Turns out I work down there just the same as you do. I had to… you know… learn how to do lots of things without hurting anyone.” She fidgeted a little in her seat, looking anywhere but at her parents.

Martha and Jonathan looked a combination of embarrassed, mystified, and relieved.

Lara cleared her throat in amusement and continued.

“So. Lots of good points. Loyal, uncomplaining, honest and aboveboard, not possessive, warmly sexual. Plenty of good aspects.

“But there are also some traits in romance that every Kryptonian should be warned about, especially when dealing with humans.

“Kryptonians are not naturals in the world of dating itself. They find many dating rituals slightly absurd, have difficulty engaging in simple free play, are rather serious and cerebral, are rather stiff and awkward, and many show almost no interest in being popular. Indeed, the healthy Kryptonian finds caring about popularity to be very unhealthy indeed. Add in the fact that we can be rather opinionated… and an interesting cocktail forms.

“Although Kryptonians are fierce advocates on sexual equality and achieved that status long ago, sexual promiscuity itself is not common among Kryptonians of either gender. Kryptonians tend to get close to people rather slowly, and so a few highly private, seriously committed relationships is the norm for them. They do not date around for the fun of it, and they do not like talking about their sexual and romantic experiences with others.

“Courtship for a Kryptonian, without getting too cultural, is a serious search for someone they find deeply worthy of personal investment. Once in love, they discuss what the plans for the relationship are going to be like; they follow them through and rarely have a change of mind. Both short term and long term relationships are fine with them, both casual and fiercely serious, depending on the circumstances - but these expectations need to be laid out beforehand. Kryptonians rarely express romantic or sexual regret, and even more rarely complain about a decided relationship.

“I have already warned about the pitfalls of list-making. For some Kryptonians but usually not Els, a different problem occurs, which is that they just settle down with the first vaguely suitable mate to have the courting process over with. This obviously can lead to its own problems. An El is far more likely not to settle down with anyone who doesn’t fit absolutely all of their personal standards, which is an entirely different issue.

“One interesting point about Kryptonians that entirely differs from humans is that ceremonies, rituals, and social norms matter very little to them. So once they have dedicated themselves to and moved in with someone, in a long term and serious way, it matters very little whether or not they have actually been married - for the Kryptonian, they are already married, and the Kryptonian acts that way. Similarly, Kryptonians have a strictly held code of sexual ethics, but it may or may not adhere to all proper standards of the society at large that they grew up in. Sexual exploration, though Martha and Jonathan may not like hearing this, is one area in which both genders of Kryptonians tend to excel.”

“You’re never dating anyone,” Jonathan announced.

“Watch me,” Greta challenged with just as much immediacy, and then she made a face. Jonathan glared and Greta was distinctly Unfazed.

“Krypton must have been an… interesting place in matters of marriage and sex,” Martha pointed out thoughtfully. “Totally different from the sort of cold, tight-lipped way they probably did courtship and the stiff aura you get from them. It’s not what I expected at all.”

“As I thought. There was great complexity,” said Lara, smiling quietly and maybe a little sadly. “Now - in matters of marriage there are more things to learn about.

“Kryptonians have a combination of three traits that were not a problem at all in the somewhat distant romantic relationships of typical Krypton. But here among humans, I can see them being an issue.

“Once decided on someone, Kryptonians throw themselves right back abstractly into their ideas, their ideals, and their goals. So if a partner wants shows of spontaneous affection, the Kryptonian will usually be too distracted, and if the partner wants lots of affection at all, they have to initiate. It’s not that the Kryptonian doesn’t care. It’s that the partner has been normalized as a standard part of their internal and external world, and therefore they get distracted with other matters - their razor sharp focus going more internally once again.

“To add to that, Kryptonians do not like to be redundant, and so on a similar note their care may already seem obvious to them. Their argument is: I have chosen you. Is that not enough? The problem is…”

“For humans, it’s not enough,” said Martha quietly.

“Exactly. So Kryptonians will be accused of things like not paying enough attention to their partner, or not saying words like ‘I love you’ often enough. It takes a very special kind of person to see the more muted ways Kryptonians show they care anyway - the special care, the constant physical acts of care and attention not given to anyone else, the great protectiveness, the loyalty and patience. The little things.

“It will be important here for Greta to eventually find someone who’s worth meeting halfway.

“Kryptonians also tend not to like partner efforts to control their actions. They particularly don’t like being asked to behave in a more socially acceptable way. It rankles their need for independence and their sense of the absurd. This can be a problem in a partner for whom putting on a good traditional, social face is very important. Kryptonians are not cruel or disgusting… but they don’t like being told what they can and can’t do and say. Neither gender does. And neither gender appreciates clingy dependency in a partner.

“We are complicated sexually in one other way. We do not like giving into irrational impulses - both sexual and emotional. This is not to say we can’t be forced out of our box; it’s just to say that’s very hard for us - and the more public the occasion, the harder it is. So our sex is often a great struggle between the rational, and the enormous irrational emotional and sexual urges we do still have. Kryptonian women in particular have a peculiar sexual need that Kryptonian men don’t - they need to be partnered with someone who can at least match them in some ways in intellect. In a great feat of psychosomatic reaction, the stupider a person acts, the less physically attractive they become to a Kryptonian woman.”

Martha’s eyebrows had risen. “That’s handy,” she said.

“Not as much as you’d think,” said Lara flatly, and she and Greta both looked a little despairing for a second. “Let’s see, other things…

“We have a special ability to care without the need to behave possessively. We don’t tend to spend our money on everything in sight, though we do enjoy ownership in ways that make us proud of ourselves. We are imaginative sensually, and sex is a deeply emotional, complex, and imaginative act for us - it means something, even in a casual relationship. We are very absent-minded and uncaring for neatness or social acceptability, but we enjoy discussing ideas and debating. 

“We do, however, hate actual emotional arguing. We do try to basically get along and avoid it. It helps that we rarely complain ourselves. We tend to retreat inside an emotionless and even icy and self-righteous shell when we argue, and for a human I can understand how this… might be infuriating.

“Female Kryptonians as I said can be feminine, but in their own eccentric and logic-driven ways. They don’t tend to like the incredibly gaudy and pretentious, in general, preferring something a little more modest in femininity. To avoid emotional argument, they may occasionally be more feminine than this to make their partners happy, but in general these are the only ways in which Kryptonian women are really traditionally feminine.

“And… that is all I can think of for basic Kryptonian romance. I tried to add in at least a couple of things that apply to Kryptonian females in particular, as well as some surprising ways in which there is no difference between the two genders.”

“Are women of your race very equality oriented?” Martha asked curiously.

“Generally,” said Lara, shrugging. “Simply in the need for independence, individuality, and sexual equality, we tend to be revolutionaries.”

Martha nodded, and both parents looked refreshing nonjudgmental.

“After this,” said Lara, smiling with that same inherent mischief, “all we have left are birth-based religious predictions.”

-

While these new lessons were not quite as life-changing for Greta, they modified her in a number of ways.

She felt even more individualized and fierce on her own independence, and more strengthened to call out gender stereotypes and roles that she didn’t feel fit her, for example. She became fiercely opinionated, a decided nontraditionalist.

And she also internalized more her reserved neutrality, her intellect, her sharp tongue, her absent-minded focus on ideas…

And she became more scathing than she had been before of men who did not come across as particularly intelligent. This could take the form of someone who seemed cold and biting -

But Greta was her own person. She didn’t mind.

She even started to form her own sense of what feminine looked like to her - modest, dark, eccentric, individualized, and logic-heavy.

She was even starting to grow past her young childhood traits and eccentricities, and into an older child and a more decided person.

Jonathan particularly did not understand this new part of his daughter… but with some amount of good-natured exasperation, he accepted it anyway.

Martha for her part was both proud of her daughter… and a little amazed by her.

Greta was starting to become her own distinct person, with her own voice.

-

“Your birthday is February 28,” Lara told Greta in her next session with her parents, and Greta nodded. “And so certain things about you, says the Sun God Rau, are inherent because of this star date.

“So today we start on just what those things are. More individualized self-learning and self-empowerment, so to speak.”

Greta leaned forward a little, interested. Lara watched her daughter and smiled.

“First, people born under your stars are compassionate. It’s one of their foremost qualities: a certain compassion and sympathy for others. But there is also a spiritual element to people born under your stars. In our world, these people frequently turned to a spiritual life under the Sun God Rau, and were called ‘old souls.’ This was an interesting combination with the Kryptonian mentality, because it meant someone unusually interested in philosophy: in finding a way to channel spirituality through a framework that made sense.

“People born under your stars are a little otherworldly, mystical. There is a strong sense of someone not entirely of this realm. Of course, as you are an alien, this feeling would be especially pronounced.

“To add to Kryptonian rationality, these people have a deep and intuitive knowledge of the psyche and behavior. They are good readers of all people and others, and of relating to them in a compassionate way. They are prone to making statements about people they know that no one else would have thought of - but that make sense when voiced. You are an unusually understanding people. Together with your Kryptonian calm, this can be a powerful force.

“You tend to have elusive, fey, sometimes remote personalities. This adds to your alien feeling. You can adapt to circumstances, and are unusually and abnormally influenced by the lives that touch yours around you. So as you move into older childhood, this older childhood will have an unusually great effect on the person you become. 

“You have an unusual ability to get under another’s skin, and to care compassionately about that other person you find underneath. Anyone sick or hurting finds a sympathetic home with you. Often you are better at caring for and protecting others stoically than you are at making yourself happy. Your aim is always sympathy and empathy.

“Yet your sensitivity also has a down-side. You have trouble saying no to people who claim to need your help or be down on their luck. 

“You also have tendencies towards impracticality, avoiding the problems in your life you don’t want to face, and jumping into the things you do want, justifying the jumping to yourself even if the things you want are bad for you. You must fight for stability and strength of emotional purpose in your life.

“You are capable of great sacrifice and hard work in service to a cause or an ideal. You are intellectually curious and enjoy exploring the unusual and the hidden. Though a hard worker, you are more suited to creative pursuits that allow freedom of movement than to business and commerce. Art, writing, law, or even scientific creative design is better suited to you. 

“You have extraordinary vision and imagination, and an intense talent for make-believe and dreams. Do not ignore that. People born under your stars may even like sleeping more often than other kinds of people.

“Blending compassion and understanding with imagination, you exert a unique power over those around you - and you are a role model and a leader even when you do not feel like one. You have a mischievous wit as well and you love to laugh. Your greatest power will be in ceasing to be so uncertain of yourself around others - that is when your true talent and charisma will flourish.

“You are capable of high intellectual achievement, and others would do well to expect it of you.” Greta sunk and glared in her seat as her three parents did one of those look exchanges. “You also put an intriguing sense of drama into everything important that you do, which actually tends to draw people in rather than push them away. To be calm, compassionate, imaginative, fey, and mischievous is one thing, to be alien is one thing, but to combine a certain unspoken sense of charisma and drama with that? There is nothing more powerful with others.

“Loyal, unselfish, and generous, you are good at bringing out the best in others. By not only seeing that good but drawing it out in safe territory, you tend to inspire people to live up to your best visions of them. You see people’s inner selves and instead of damaging them, you push them higher.

“This can be a particularly powerful gift with those that are hurting psychologically - romance or no romance.

“You have enormous feelings and see everything in life in vivid, imaginative shades - this is particularly pronounced with your abstract, hidden emotion Kryptonian outlook. You’re tougher than you seem, however, you always bounce back, and your greatest strength is in giving to others.

“You have a gift for making each person feel as if you are their special friend, as if they have your undivided attention. You are a sparkling and often artistic social presence, certainly more than people of your sign typically give themselves credit for. You let people lean on you, and yet the more they see of you, the more they see your surprising underside of vulnerability underneath all that sharp, witty armor.

“As women in particular, people born under your stars are a fascinating mixture of earthy passions and the otherworldly. You have a gift for making people seem enchanted by you even when the people themselves are not really able to articulate why. You have an allure that doesn’t really have a specific place or a voice; it emanates from everything you do.

“One gift you have, probably desperately needed by humans from a Kryptonian woman, is an ability to make men feel more masculine. Unusually for a traditional Kryptonian woman, your underside of vulnerability is good at bringing out protective instincts.

“You have a gift for seeing underneath masks, for seeing the psychic person underneath, and so tend to be unusually good at picking out romantic partners. Your interests fall into two groups: people who always need your help, and people who never need your help. You like feeling helpful and compassionate toward others on one hand, and you love meeting someone who feels emotionally stronger than you on the other hand - or at least strong enough to handle you. As a Kryptonian El, of course, you’re more likely to get along with the latter.

“Love would be a very important part of your life in particular. When you’re in love and happy, everything’s marvelous; when you’re in love and unhappy, everything’s terrible. You may try to deny this part of yourself, being what you are, but it still exists. One thing that characterizes you is this strange mutable, adaptable quality you have around people you date or even befriend - you have a thousand faces and yet always remain uniquely yourself, a talent which tends to intrigue people. It adds to the fascination people have of you that they do not understand.

“Otherwordly, dreamy, and bewitching, these women are unusually good at exploring their sexuality even by Kryptonian standards. Their ability to channel their dreams into erotic play is particularly enticing, especially combined with their ability to become softer and more gentle and make their partner feel more masculine.”

“I do not need to hear this,” Jonathan interrupted to announce loudly. Greta snickered.

But Lara looked genuinely puzzled. “Why not?” she asked. “It is a fact, like many others. This opposition puzzles me.”

Martha leaned over and whispered loudly, “I think it’s a Kryptonian thing.”

“It’s weird!” Jonathan protested.

“Please continue,” said Greta loudly over her parents, eyes wide and annoyed, and Lara did, still looking confused.

“In any case, these people’s sensitivity can be both a good and a bad point. On one hand, they are expert at understanding the second they have become too much, and at pulling neatly back. On the other hand, as I said, they tend to be hyper-sensitive in romance, as well as sometimes touchy and snappish.

“They’re worth it, though. In relationships, romance, sensuality, and spirituality all combine with this person. Indeed, even for an El, this person’s sense of romance would be particularly pronounced - albeit in their own unusual way. All romance and sex would take on this soulfully heightened quality.

“In basic relationships, these people look for a few things: Someone strong to lean on - they don’t need to be the dominant person in the relationship. In fact, emotional support is badly needed with these people. A creative partner, in some way like them. Thoughtfulness, security, and sensuality - they don’t like changeable people who will just get up and leave, or people who are grounded entirely in the mind. Someone who is okay with a certain underside of shyness and vulnerability. Romance, albeit in a quiet way, and a certain intuitive mutual understanding. They don’t actually mind a certain amount of jealousy; it makes them feel secure. These people are in the end very cozy, at home sorts of people. And finally, someone who is okay with idealism is badly needed. Someone with a bit more practicality than them and an openness to sensually experiment is also welcome.

“So this adds to the basic Kryptonian needs of a strong and intelligent personality with bravery, willpower, and independence.

“And that’s the complete personality picture as I viewed it from birth. You can see the person, can’t you?”

Lara was smiling.

“Yes,” said Martha slowly, looking over at a thoughtful Greta. “Yes, I think I can.”

-

The final lesson shifted Greta again and cemented her in place as she moved further into older childhood.

Greta let herself lighten a little bit, temper her Kryptonian mindset with her stars. Her razor sharp edges softened into something darkly amused, warm and cheerful, even quiet and classy. Her Kryptonian mind was tempered by something calm, compassionate, imaginative, fey, and mischievous. Her quiet, distant sense of the otherworldly and alien combined with her certain unspoken sense of drama and charisma to produce a powerful person - one unusually comfortable being herself, and dryly and mischievously humorous.

One of the things she really tried to cultivate in herself was combining strong stoicism and intelligence with quiet sympathy, concern, understanding, and compassion. Learning that she was for a Kryptonian unusually good at reading and understanding people without judgment, she let herself be that way.

In her own quiet way, she let her compassion and idealism shine through for the first time. She even let herself become more imaginative - more distant and dreamy, more open to being creative.

At the same time, she did have her shields - mainly her sarcastic, intelligent, reserved Kryptonian ones, combined with a certain sensitive snappishness. Only rarely did her uncertain vulnerability shine through into her outer life. This was partly because she tried to reject the vulnerability, and yet it remained.

Greta became good at being very… Kryptonian when she wanted to be. It was both one of her strengths, and one of her weaknesses.

She was very aware of herself, though, which was a positive. She knew what she needed and wanted and was good at - from romance, from a career, from life. She had a powerful self awareness, combined with her basic appearance - assortment of strange and boyish clothes, careless ponytail - and the sleek silver watch always on her wrist.

She was the woman of a thousand faces, and yet always herself. This personality provided a powerful background and color to the older childhood and young teenager events that were about to shape and form her back history’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Enough talking and character building. Now to several chapters of the plot and experiences that happen before canon. I’m rebuilding this character from the ground up, and how Greta's life differs from Clark's life before canon starts is also important. You are about to see some of these changes be put into effect.


	4. More Than the Bad Stuff

Chapter Four: More Than the Bad Stuff

Greta quickly took to helping her father on the farm. Mom worked in the organic orchard, the free range chickens, and the vegetable and herb gardens, but Dad’s work in the fields, the grass fed cows and horses, and the grain silo required a lot more work.

So from an early age Greta began using her powers of supernatural speed and strength to get things done faster.

She quickly became an expert in hard work and getting down and dirty. She would wake up at 5 am, trudge out in muck books, trudge through the sludge to clean out the horse stalls, deal with the straw and hay bales, and then head out to the fields.

She learned how to feed the cows and got an early driver’s license so she could work the tractor. She learned how to speed through all the dust and dirt of the fields, getting things done as quickly as possible. 

She learned how to milk cows - a disgusting process - as well as from Mom the uglier sides of raising chickens. On that note, she learned how to put up with a lot of dust, heat, and smells, and how to work alongside labor-intensive farm workers out in the hot Kansas sun, the flat land and the high winds.

It came with the territory.

The other workers liked her. They called her “firebrand” and “half-pint” as she flitted among them, working various jobs. She learned how to grin and joke around with the workers broadly. They taught her how to do things like spit, swear, and eat and drink fast.

Farming carried a surprising amount of science. Greta learned and was interested in things like book balancing, food and farming health and ethics, and farm irrigation, especially in a small, family-run operation.

She grew up knowing intimately what it was like to be poor. Small buildings in a small town and constant trips to thrift stores made up much of younger life with her mother. Lots of canned foods that she and her Mom made together. Her own home was humble, often shabby, warm and filled with antiques and sunlight and homey smells like coffee, with a wraparound porch with a clear view and tin wind chimes in the dusty air. She would sometimes hear her parents worrying about money when she wasn’t in the room and they thought she couldn’t hear them.

She became comfortable in nature. Reading in the orchard, or taking hikes or horseback riding trails through the nearby woods, or getting barefoot and hiking her jeans up in one of the creeks in the woods and catching tadpoles, or looking for crystals and arrowheads in the surrounding greenery. She learned how to value the quiet and calm of a rural area at night.

But mostly she learned from her Dad. He taught her everything he knew about nature and about the harder aspects of farming, teaching her everything from fishing in swamps and swatting away mosquitoes to the ethics of caring for the environment and hard work.

But that wasn’t all she learned from her Dad.

-

Greta was good friends with her father as a little girl. Their favorite thing would be to drive the family truck through the dusty trails and fields and into town, where her father would take her to the local diner and buy them both milkshakes.

Greta would always have distinct memories of that time, of sitting in a cool diner booth swinging her legs across from her grinning, talking Dad, and watching little beads of sweat appear on her old-fashioned chocolate milkshake glass. (Chocolate - always chocolate.)

The pie there was good, but not as good as the kind Mom made at home.

Greta went to ball games with her father. They sat in the bleachers eating hot dogs. They would stand up and cheer with the crowds at every important moment, and in between cheers Greta’s Dad would teach her about the ball game in front of them and about different plays. He would do the same thing on the sofa at home, when they watched football together. He would play at different sports with her out in the back lot when they had a free hour, both of them laughing all the while.

There were lots of photos of Greta and her father fishing together, Greta holding up a fish and grinning proudly, or of young Greta cheering in delight and her father laughing as they went around the back lot near the barn in the tractor together.

Greta spent her childhood as a tomboy. She dressed in casual, boyish clothes and loved comics and cards. She always preferred kickball with the boys at recess over being in the princess girl’s corner - both grinning and competitive.

It was during this time that she formed her friendship with Pete Ross, who came from a longtime Smallville family that was friends with her own. He was a nerd, like her, although he was more focused on having fun and she on reading and getting excellent grades. (From the beginning, Greta was always an intellectual nerd and a reader.)

Pete was more outgoing than quiet Greta, and that was what made the friendship work. Pete was always cajoling Greta into trying to have more fun. At the same time, he was a nerd - and they had the same basic definitions of what fun was and came from the same social circles. They teamed up against the more popular kids together.

It was a friendship that would stay with them throughout the years.

-

Greta grew up in a small town, and this also shaped the person she would become.

Small towns had their problems. They were prone to depression, to alcoholism, to drug abuse. There was not always much to do inside them - Smallville had a single movie theater. They were not the height of culture or of class, and if you hated bugs, nature, and the outdoors, Smallville probably wasn’t for you. Yes, it was a relatively poor farming place set out in the middle of nowhere.

All that was true. But it didn’t really capture the heart of Smallville. Smallville was a place people left, but it was also a place people grew up in.

Smallville was quiet. This sounded like a strange thing to start out with, but when you were used to a city, going to a place like Smallville was stark. All of a sudden, there were no sirens, no loud music, no constant chatter, no shouting, no cars driving by. No sound.

Just.

Silence.

Everyone walked down the street freely, because there was very little crime. Everyone knew each other, so people would smile and say hi to you in the sunshine as you passed in the dusty streets full of old cars. 

Walking down Main Street, which was a single road, you would see old things long gone in cities. Old-fashioned drug stores, antiques shops, hardware and woodworking places, flower shops - tiny little family run businesses. A single courthouse. A single and not incredibly large historical town hall.

Nearby were other things you’d never see in a city. Quarries. Native American reservations. Actual forestry. Around Smallville was so much open land with just nothing in it.

One middle school. One high school. Everybody went to school together.

More than that, Smallville was beautiful. It wasn’t just a bunch of flat, ugly fields. It had long, twisting blue rivers, swathes of beautiful green forestry, quiet country back roads with tailgate parties - it had so much overt evidence of beautiful nature that a city person wouldn’t have expected just from hearing the name.

Smallville, Kansas.

Smallville was a small town, but there was more to small towns than just the bad stuff. Talking only about how remote Smallville was… was like mentioning a city and only talking about its crime rates.

Not only deceptive… but incomplete. Smallville was made by its people - real humans, with real problems.

Peaceful, friendly, and quiet, it was worlds away from the cities so many other people seemed to inhabit. It was a place where children and teenagers felt restless, but also a place where children and teenagers felt allowed to be restless.

Restlessness stemmed from big dreams, and big dreams stemmed from idealism.

Greta thought about this a lot.

-

Greta was at the animal shelter one day with her father as a child.

Greta had wanted to adopt dogs, and had talked her reluctant parents into letting two dogs onto the farm.

She and her father were led from the shelter counter and into the back. Long rows of metal barring hid the animals from sight, but not the smell - and not the sounds of barking that started up immediately upon their entry.

Greta walked around, quiet but sympathetic, taking a look. She wished she could just save all of them, but of course that wasn’t an option. No money, no space, no resources.

Suddenly, she paused and stared.

Two cocker spaniels were huddled in a corner, looking at her with big, afraid eyes. 

“Who are they?” Greta asked, pointing.

“A brother and sister. Maxie and Marco. They came from a -“ The woman running the shelter winced. “Not so nice home.”

Greta lowered her hand - and looked up with big eyes. “Dad?” she asked. “Can we?”

“It’s going to be a lot of work with those two,” Jonathan protested feebly. Then he looked deep into his daughter’s big blue eyes, which still hadn’t abated - and he sighed. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll take the two Spaniels.”

Greta jumped in the air and actually cheered.

She took care of the two dogs almost solely on her own, in addition to her chores, as she had promised she would. She fed them, cleaned up their messes, let them know where on the farm they could and couldn’t go, smiled as she petted and played fetch with them…

And she was gentle with them. Slowly, they grew to trust her, growing less shy and looking up at her with big, adoring eyes.

It was the first time Greta had ever saved someone, and she decided privately that she liked the feeling.

-

Greta was lying with her dogs out in a field one night with a mug of hot cocoa, looking up at the huge, clear night sky above, which seemed so endless with the fields on every side. She had a boot crossed over a jean-clad knee, a thermos of heated hot cocoa in her hand, ponytail free so that her black hair spread out around her head like seaweed in the grass.

“Wow…” she whispered, blue eyes sparkling.

Meteors were flashing across in the night sky above her.

A newfound stargazing fanatic, Greta loved going out into bug-ridden fields and staring up at the night sky. In the cool evenings, it always felt a little more like home. She always felt a kind of longing inside her for a place and time she didn’t remember - half joy, half terrible sadness.

She smiled up at the meteors flitting across the sky, hot cocoa in hand and Maxie and Marco on either side of her.

Finally, she leaned into her sleek silver watch. “… Lara?” she asked.

Martha was Mom, but her computer biological mother was Lara.

“Yes?” came Lara’s voice from within the watch, which glowed blue briefly.

“Did Kryptonians ever do this? Watch things pass across the space sky?”

“It would not have been a rational action.”

Greta looked disappointed. “… Oh.” Her heart got heavier.

“I said that it was not rational,” said Lara in amusement. “Not that we didn’t do it.”

Greta threw back her head and laughed, the sound echoing in the nighttime Kansas fields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added in a bit of Lara at the end, just to show how Greta has made Lara a normal part of her life. But for the most part, the only other characters in this chapter were Pete and Jonathan, and that was on purpose.
> 
> I am going to do a series of chapters showcasing different aspects of a growing Greta’s life. Each one will feature certain characters in her life that have become important to her.
> 
> So don’t worry. Other characters will be making an appearance in different chapters.


	5. Girls Don't Play the Guitar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really the point when Greta’s childhood diverges from Clark’s completely.

Chapter Five: Girls Don’t Play the Guitar

Greta was mending a wood fence post out in a field beside their lead field hand, Earl Jenkins, one day on the Kent farm.

“It’s a shame you’re not a boy,” Earl remarked casually.

Greta bristled. “Why?” she asked in annoyance, her head lifting.

Earl raised his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, fire-brand. It would just have been cool to have a guy I could teach the guitar to. Nothing gets you into the parties and the ladies like being a musician.”

“Well, why can’t I learn the guitar?” Greta asked indignantly, straightening.

And then Earl said the magic words: “Girls don’t play the guitar.”

-

“Can you believe that?!” Greta was fuming indignantly with her parents in the living room that night, after telling them the story.

Both parents looked exasperated and amused.

“I bugged him for hours, but he still wouldn’t teach me.” Greta crossed her arms, glaring ahead of herself. “And it sucks, because I have the picture-perfect strength control needed to play the guitar, too. By this point, being an alien wouldn’t hinder me at all!”

“Well, I’m sorry about that, sweetheart -“ Jonathan began with a fond smile.

“I want a guitar for my birthday.”

Jonathan paused. “… What?”

“My birthday is coming up. I want a guitar for my birthday,” said Greta in an iron voice. 

“But - but he said he wouldn’t teach you -“ Jonathan sputtered, flustered.

“I know. I have a plan.” Greta lifted her chin loftily.

Jonathan looked flabbergasted, caught off guard. Martha chuckled, stood from the sofa, walked by him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Best to give into this one,” she advised, and walked away amused.

Lara’s giggle could be heard from the watch as Jonathan sagged a little bit.

-

And so Greta set to teaching herself a song on the guitar.

The Internet helped. She watched and read a lot of basic guitar tutorials. Her father had bought her an acoustic guitar, which more fit the area of the world they were from anyway, so she set herself to learning an old blues song her Dad liked to play while he was working on his motorcycle out in the barn.

The noise was… painful, at first.

Martha and Jonathan would wince and stay far away from the part of the house holding Greta’s bedroom as Greta played lots of shrill, off-tune guitar wailing from her bedroom. She banged out the songs a lot at first, determined in her sheer anger to get them right.

It took her some practice to learn that learning music required a somewhat calm state of mind - and manic energy was for people who already understood their instrument.

Perhaps it was because she was a Kryptonian, but this actually made a lot of sense to her.

So she calmed down and decided to take it step by step. She practiced tuning, then different chords, then playing them in a certain sequence. She even sang softly along to what she was playing, because she’d heard that singing along to the guitar was easiest to learn when both were practiced from the beginning at once.

She slowly started to sound better… and spent hours hunched over her acoustic guitar on her bed, playing and singing softly.

There was a technical aspect to it she hadn’t been anticipating - a technique based aspect to this kind of creativity. And as Lara had promised, she did best when she filtered her own soft soul through the technical aspects she had mastered.

Finally, she decided she had her first blues song down.

-

She stood in front of Earl, who stood out in a field chewing gum and looking genuinely surprised, as she determinedly played and sang the whole song for him.

“See? I can learn,” she said at the end, standing determined and glaring. “Teach me music.”

“Well… Jesus, I was mostly kidding, but you took that really seriously,” said Earl, surprised. He paused - lifted his hat, scratched his head, and grinned. “Okay,” he said cheerfully, shrugging. “Let’s do it.”

Greta brightened.

Greta’s Dad was walking by and Earl called jokingly, “Hey, Jonathan! Your daughter’s pretty strong willed! I think she might be even more stubborn than you!”

“Don’t I know it,” Jonathan said without looking, sounding both fond and irritated, and he kept walking.

Earl laughed and Greta smirked in satisfaction.

Martha watched her daughter from the kitchen window - and smiled proudly.

-

And so Greta set herself to learning music.

She had a good head for the technical aspects and music theory, which helped. She mastered what each tuned string sounded like, memorized whole books of chord progressions and songs, and practiced the breathing techniques necessary for her singing to sound good.

Harder for her at first was something Earl himself taught her. “You can’t sound lifeless,” he said. “You have to take the emotion from the piece and find it inside yourself. Channel that.

“Sounding technically good is only half the battle.”

A human way of looking at music, but Lara had already admitted that the average human was far better at something overtly emotional and inventive like music than the average Kryptonian was.

So Greta decided to take this as a lesson and give it a try.

Once she had, she found playing the guitar and singing music to be surprisingly therapeutic. A good way of venting the emotions. There was a sound and a set of lyrics for practically every feeling in the world.

All she had to do was find the right song and channel that.

She ended up playing for friends, including Pete, and they were genuinely impressed.

So for the first time she identified herself - she was not just a farm girl, but a girl who could play the guitar. She was not only original… but highly capable of being unique and creative.

Greta decided to start trying to see where else she could channel that uniqueness and creativity in her life. Where else she could channel her own energy through something she already basically enjoyed.

That was the start.


	6. Word Puzzles and Life Matters

Chapter Six: Word Puzzles and Life Matters

One of the things Greta already enjoyed was books - philosophy in particular - and food. Greta had a voracious appetite that Lara had speculated might come from the tremendous powers of speed and strength she used almost every day. 

So she decided to start from there. She dedicated herself to expanding the realm of books she loved, and to snacking while she was reading. 

She found very quickly that when she was upset or when she was concentrating on a book, she could go through whole jars of peanut butter, whole tubs of ice cream, and whole bags of chocolates. Pizza was another thing she could eat until an ordinary human would have thrown up.

In books, she found a few loves: philosophy, horror, big classical novels, poetry, and science fiction. 

Here, she found an unexpected connection with her mother. Martha regularly took local community college classes simply because she enjoyed them, was highly intelligent and business driven, had met Jonathan while at law school in the Metropolis City where she’d grown up… and Martha adored books.

So they would talk about things Greta had read together at the kitchen table, having long books talks.

“Philosophy is a weird thing to be interested, and especially to start out your interest in - mostly because it’s a weird thing to tell people you enjoy,” Greta told her one day.

“Especially as a teenager, I’d expect,” said Martha calmly. “But what exactly do you mean?”

“I think that modern day philosophers mostly confine themselves to college campuses, never trying to reach the general populous. And they seem to spend loads of time trying to sell their subject as having ‘marketable skills’ to potential college students,” said Greta. “This is a problem, because the original point of philosophy wasn’t to give people marketable skills at all. It was to help the ordinary population outside college campuses reach some form of enlightenment.

“I think we’ve lost sight of that. Because that’s the reason why I read philosophy.”

“Because it tells you how the world works?” Martha asked.

“Not at all,” Greta argued. “Because it teaches me how to figure out for myself how the world works. It gives me all the tools - close reading and analysis, for example, or an ability to look at big ideas - and it lets me flit through lots of different writers’ brains and start to decide things for myself. It gives me the ability to argue my own ideas, not someone else’s.

“I like philosophy because I can appreciate the idea of enlightenment and I like thinking for myself. That’s all there is to it.”

“But other people hear that you like philosophy… and you get bewildered reactions,” Martha guessed, smiling wryly.

“The most common responses to ‘I’m reading philosophy’ are ‘Good for you’ and ‘Why?’” said Greta, deadpan, and Martha laughed.

Horror was another subject Greta branched out into. Horror was a complicated thing to enjoy, because it was essentially the process of enjoying purposeful fear.

There was so much complex to the idea of loving horror, and it was something she talked about a lot with her Mom. There was the thrilling aspect to it, of course, on the surface - the incredible adrenaline rush as the reader dove their way through horror novels. The imaginativeness and, at times, the deeply existential questions and crises.

But there was more to horror than that.

Horror was an oddly comforting thing to read. Greta had a largely good life, and so horror was a window for her into how much she should appreciate her life - and just how horrifying it could potentially be.

But horror also spoke to all the little parts of her life - unbearable loneliness at the idea of her race being dead, for example - that she usually never felt brave enough to voice. She felt a vast chasm inside her when she thought of her whole solar system being gone and the actual Lara being dead out there somewhere, of the Lara she knew being an artificial comfort… and reading horror spoke to that part of her she usually never let anyone see.

But the best thing about horror was that it was what some readers and critics called “manageable.” It wasn’t like real life. If the story ever became too much, the TV turned off, the book was closed -

And all of a sudden, the problem didn’t exist anymore.

Real life wasn’t like that.

And then there came the classics - which were nice purely because, as Martha sagely pointed out, “lots of other people have already verified the classics are at least well written and poignant, even if they end up being not terribly interesting.”

Greta loved reading classics, and more than that she loved rereading classics. Two actions that seemed similar but were in reality somehow peculiarly different.

Reading a classic was wonderful, because a delicious sense of drama and importance lent itself to the entire, prideful first reading of a “classic.” Greta was reading a classic, and it was deliciously dramatic and important.

Rereading a classic was wonderful because so many delicious undertones and sub-textures could be found that were not obvious on the first read. Greta only truly understood many classical novels in the rereads.

Finally, classical novels were lovely because they were complex and fascinating and easy to fall in love with. Greta formed an irrational fondness for each and every single one of her beloved classical novels, in which she could find something new during each and every single one of her many beloved rereads.

Classics were like a good cut of steak with a glass of red wine for the mind.

In the matter of poetry, Greta’s Mom hooked her rather cruelly for life with a single tactfully offered piece of writing:

“Read poetry because of the times you have stopped to look at rain fall through the light of a street lamp and wished you knew the words that made it what it was. Read poetry because you are lonely and full of wild abandon. Read poetry so when you are no longer lonely and are wrapping your arms and legs around your beloved your beloved will tell you I have never known arms and legs to have such wild abandon. Read poetry so a part of you stays in what you see, so what you see stays with you. Read poetry because the world and our emotions and our ideas are always more complicated than we want them to be. Read poetry because the lady next to you in the cafe won’t stop humming tunelessly to herself and you need to find a way to know her loneliness. Read poetry so you can hate National Poetry Month knowledgeably on social media. Read poetry so you can increase your chances of watching your favorite sport with Seth Landman and the ghost of Herman Melville. Read poetry because the night is long and people die and both of these truths are unfair and hurt us over and over without relenting. Read poetry because the unnamed heaviness in you is the weight of the ancient nameless dead longing to be remembered. Remember them. Read poetry because language is a virus from outer space that is ever evolving and every poem has the chance of living forever. Read poetry and get excited about formal constraints in poetry because, c’mon, who doesn’t like to be tied down from time to time? Read poetry instead of looking at her profile picture so often that when you open the Facebook your browser opens her page automatically; read poetry so that every her in every poem becomes her. Read poetry because you know that waiting makes whatever you are waiting for even better when it comes. Read poetry because you are already wicked smart and poetry is the only thing that really stumps you, because when you see a manticore you trust your instinct and run like hell instead of asking if Mr. Manticore would like a bite of your tuna fish sandwich (show us them Mineola Prep track star legs). Read poetry because manticores are real, and so are all the gods, and gnomes, and so is faery, and so are all of your feelings. Read poetry because no one has ever loved or been hurt by love as much as you. Of course you feel this way, poetry understands. Read poetry because of the vestiges of a world you once knew often invade your day and the houses and avenues of the past are, alas, prisoners of the years. Read poetry so you can steal lines from Proust and this line from Barbara Guest: Poetry is the true fiction. Read poetry so you never have to talk about MEANING ever again because poetry is unparaphraseable, man. Read poetry because the political and environmental realities make you weep and poetry can help. Poetry can help. Read poetry because it offers no answers, no advice, no cures, just understanding and love and timing. Read poetry because the world is more than the facts of the world. Read poetry because you don’t have enough mystery in your life and you want to become even more mysterious (re: attractive) than you are already are. Read poetry because you have poems in you that need to be written. Read poetry because birds, honeysuckle, lit windows, new shoes, walking outside, donuts, lipstick, fresh peaches, cocktails, kisses in the rain produce in you a feeling that you never want to lose, but you will, and the only thing you can do is pay better attention when the feeling comes again. And here it comes. And there it goes. Was it as rich as it could be? Life is so short, my friends. But poetry makes it last a bit longer. It does. It is true. Listen.”

Greta would come to find this piece of writing made a lot more sense to those who had read and studied poetry. That merciless curiosity to understand what she was reading had hooked her in the first place, and that same curiosity applied to every single complex poem she ever read afterward and never let her go.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said sarcastically, deadpan, sitting and reading a book of complex poems - she’d come to think of them as word puzzles - one afternoon at the kitchen table.

Martha gave a smooth smile and kept walking. “You’re welcome.” There was a hint of smugness in her voice.

And finally came science fiction.

It seemed almost self-congratulatory for an alien to be reading science fiction, but Greta started out because science fiction was useful to her for two reasons. First, it helped her to know how humans viewed things she had already figured out.

But second, and more importantly, science fiction was essentially humans taking big social subjects and describing them through scientific worlds and devices that did not yet exist but might exist, somewhere, if one studied science.

And if that didn’t hook somebody on reading science fiction, Greta couldn’t really help them.

Most depressing for Greta, however, was that she discovered many people often mistook pulp for science fiction, and that many more people thought science fiction was too complicated for people of her age group.

“Science fiction should make a lot of intuitive sense to people still trying to figure the world out,” Greta despaired to her mother over another book talk at the kitchen table one day. “So why is science fiction always dismissed as something only for nerds? These writers pen out complex worlds and ideas, combining futuristic and imaginative inventions with big social problems and ideas of today…

“And people assume the only readers interested in this are readers with no life,” she finished in infuriated frustration.

“Greta,” said Martha simply, “one of the things you’re going to have to learn to do in your life is ignore what other people think about what matters to you.

“It matters to you. That’s what’s important.”

Life issues like that came up a lot in book talks, but this particular bit of advice was one Greta would never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry excerpt is from “Why Read Poetry?” by Dan Chelotti and you can find it online.
> 
> This was a very abstract chapter; the next chapter will be much less so and very plot-ish.


	7. Hate Mail

Chapter Seven: Hate Mail

Greta made friends with Chloe Sullivan in early middle school. Chloe’s single father worked for the local Luthor Corp plant and she was a transfer from Metropolis City. Greta was assigned to show Chloe around Smallville Middle School on her first day.

A pixie-like little thing with short, spiky hair and vintage clothes, Chloe loved two things - cappuccinos and investigative reporting. Her hero was Nellie Bly, a historical investigative reporter who had faked insanity solely to be locked inside a mental asylum so that she could then report on the horrific conditions she found there.

Brilliant and energetic, Chloe was going to head right back to Metropolis for college at eighteen and hoped to become an investigative reporter at the Daily Planet, Metropolis’s most prestigious newspaper. Chloe said she wanted to “uncover the ugliness in the world and expose the truth.”

“Well, I’m more of a scientist and an artist, but my Dad has said if I’m still stuck in Smallville not using my brain by the time I’m nineteen he’ll disown me,” Greta had joked. “Can I come with you?”

Chloe’s eyes had widened eagerly. “Hell YES!” she had suddenly exploded on that first day at school, and Greta had visibly jumped in mild surprise.

So Chloe and Greta bonded over shared plans to make it to college and get out of Smallville. Then Chloe insisted on seeing Greta’s farm, apparently because she’d mistaken the Kents for Amish people.

The friendship was a work in progress for a while.

Chloe became the threesome to Greta and Pete’s friendship, and she was the one who decided their teenage hangout place would be the local coffee place The Beanery, easily one of the trendiest places in Smallville.

Greta began spending less and less time at home, more and more time in school and in downtown Smallville with her friends. Her parents stopped dropping her off at school and she began riding the bus with Chloe and Pete.

Pete had a quite dazed, daydreamy crush on Chloe, which deeply amused Greta because Pete had already sworn Greta to secrecy.

But Chloe was the one who convinced Greta to join the school newspaper she had started - one she hoped to continue at Smallville High.

“I’m - not an investigative reporter,” Greta had pointed out, smiling awkwardly. “I don’t know, I feel like my articles would just end up - dull.”

“Well newspapers aren’t all reporting,” Chloe had pointed out. “Why don’t you try writing what comes naturally to you, and I’ll take a look?”

So Greta had curiously begun exploring her writing capacity - and found she mostly gravitated toward opinion pieces on major issues, and fledgling poetry of her own.

Chloe had seen what she’d written and become ridiculously excited.

“Ooh!” she said. “I’m totally giving you your own weekly poetry section! And you can share the paper’s opinion pieces with me!"

“I’m not very schooled on certain issues,” Greta admitted awkwardly.

Chloe’s eyes had gleamed. “You want to learn about the big issues? I can help with that.”

Chloe ended up making it her basic mission in life to make Greta as opinionated as she was. Admiring Chloe’s fierceness on her ideals as well as her ambition, Greta let Chloe make her… a little more like her.

She soon expanded not only from her roles in the school newspaper… but into opinion blogging of her own.

Sharing poems and strongly felt opinions with her school population, or even with people online, proved to be a complicated experience.

The reactions in both cases fell into two separate categories: People who approached Greta and told her she was pretentious, loud, and generally full of shit… and people who approached Greta and thanked her for being so brave and honest.

Greta wasn’t sure how to make sense of this mixed experience, so she explained it to Chloe while they were walking to the middle school bus together after school one day.

“Oh, for me it’s all positive,” Chloe had said. “There are the people who love what I’m getting at, and then there are the people who prove I’m bravely sticking to my own ideals.”

“How do you figure?” said Greta, puzzled.

“Greta.” Chloe stopped to look at her with big eyes. “It’s art and political opinion. If you’re not pissing anybody off, or getting hate mail and hate comments, you’re not doing your job correctly!”

Then she had flounced off in typical Chloe exasperation.

Greta had paused… smiled, and followed.

The hate mail she got over her poems and opinion pieces bothered her a lot less after that. Chloe was a “tough love” sort of girlfriend.


	8. Fat Goth

Chapter Eight: Fat Goth

Lara had decided that Greta needed to start wearing hypnotic accessories… and that triggered a whole fashion meltdown in Greta’s mind.

“I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so obsessed with your appearance,” said Martha patiently, sitting on Greta’s bed as Greta stared despairingly into her standing mirror as if it held someone she did not recognize. “You’ve always been fine with jeans, boots, sweatshirts, and ponytails before.”

“But - Mom, I can’t still be wearing the same thing I wore at five, at fifteen. That’s pathetic,” Greta complained. “Anyway, this whole… look is starting not to feel like me anymore anyway. I’ve changed, but… I’m still wearing the same damn things, with no makeup.

“I’m a teenage girl. You remember how brutal middle school was. The expectations are… different.”

“… Okay,” said Martha patiently. “So what do you want to do about it?”

Greta’s new look came in several steps.

First, she decided on glasses as her hypnotic, “don’t notice me as unusual” accessory. Then she decided that she liked both the classic look… and the kind of dark, muted, logical glamor she was so fond of.

So she went for a kind of dark classic glamor, “film noir librarian” look. She put on the glasses and dressed dark and muted but classy. Pumps, pencil skirts, blouses, that sort of thing, all in dark colors.

Next she took that and put it to its next logical extent. She put on a faint tracing of dark eyeliner, some red lipstick, and she piled her glossy waves of black hair back behind her head.

She looked at herself in the standing mirror, put a hand on her hip - and smirked.

“Better,” she said.

That felt more like the older Greta Verity.

She took that idea of dark but feminine into her decorating aesthetic, and over time she slowly redecorated both her bedroom… and the loft her Dad had built for her up above the wide, cold barn floor that he called her “Fortress of Solitude.”

She went for a dark but feminine sort of decorating style.

Dark bold colors with gold and silver hints started out the look. She added in tiny little antique glass and artsy pieces, candles, neat technological shelves, and beautiful white lilies and white roses with copper adornments. The whole thing had a very Minimalist feel to it, which Lara insisted was deeply Kryptonian but which also fit in with the sort of look Greta was going for.

Greta’s old family telescope went by the barn loft window.

But just because she loved and was proud of her new overall appearance… didn’t mean the people at school were.

-

Martha ended up sitting at her daughter’s bedside a different time for a very different reason, this time beside Greta herself. Tears were unshed in Greta’s eyes. She was trying hard to hold so much emotion back.

Martha put a sympathetic arm around her shoulders. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked gently. “You’ve been like this since you got back from the bus stop this afternoon.”

“… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But you need to. Kryptonian or no Kryptonian,” said Martha, gentle but stern. “I know you’ve been spending more time outside the house with your friends at that coffee place lately… but what happened today at school?

“It’s the first time you’ve ever come home this upset,” Martha finished, concerned. “And you’ve gotten hate mail from your school newspaper opinion piece writing and everything.”

Greta sniffed and looked down stoically at the floor, tears still unshed in her eyes. “A kid in the halls today called me a fat Goth,” she said, not looking at Martha, her voice trying very hard to be flat and properly Kryptonian. “Everyone around us laughed.”

Martha paused… closed her eyes and sighed. “God, I miss being a teenager,” she said sarcastically.

“Mom… am I fat?”

Martha kneeled quickly down to look her in the eye. “No, honey,” she said firmly. “You’re not. And even if you were, it wouldn’t make you ugly. But you’re just… growing in big curves. There’s a difference.”

Greta fiddled with her nails, still trying hard to be stoical and not look her Mom in the eye. “And I’m not even really a Goth either, so the whole thing was dumb,” she said, “and an insult to real Goths.

“It’s just… I was already self conscious of my body.”

“Your body is fine. So is your fashion. People just… see someone different and confident like you, and it makes them uncomfortable, so they find things to laugh at. Your friends are okay with how you look, right?”

“… Yeah,” Greta admitted, still downcast and not looking at her mother. “Yeah, they seem to be.”

“And so are we. And that’s what matters,” said Martha firmly. 

But even she paused at Greta's next words:

“What if the way I look matters to guys? What if I never find someone?”

“That… is such a teenager thing to think,” said Martha at last despairingly. “Teenage girl especially. Look, honey - it’s hard for you to understand this right now, but some men will actually find you very attractive.

“And this guy - he was a real winner, was he?” said Martha with a deep sense of irony.

Greta at last snorted and smiled. “… No,” she admitted. “He was a dumb, ugly basketball player who likes to pick on people.”

“Exactly.” Martha smiled. “Don’t let him get to you and eventually he’ll lose interest, okay? He’s just saying it to be a dick.”

At last, Greta looked up at her tentatively… and smiled. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thanks.”

“Now come on.” Martha stood up and held out a hand. Greta paused and blinked in surprise. “Let’s go get the car keys.”

And Martha drove Greta into town, and took her out window shopping, and bought her her favorite ice cream at the local ice cream parlor. They laughed and talked and stayed out until it was evening, until Greta was not remotely upset at all.

When Greta got home, she discovered a text from Chloe:

“Just thought you should know. That guy from today was flirting with you once and you never figured it out, so you accidentally rejected him. He was bitter. Not sure if you were upset, but thought you should know.”

Greta laughed in a watery way and typed back:

“You are psychic, Chloe. Thank you.”

Chloe texted back:

“No problem. It is a sad day indeed when a friend of mine goes through any kind of sadness because some ugly shit-head who’s pretty close to brain-dead doesn’t find them date-worthy. I think that’s actually a compliment.”

Greta decided she loved the women in her life.

But Greta wasn’t done growing yet. Next up came some of the biggest pieces of self discovery on her list. She was about to:

Take her love for rock music and turn it into a love for record players and classic rock. Take her love of vehicles from her father and turn it into a love for fixing up old cars. Take her love of science and channel it into a junior female robotics team. And take her love for sports and channel it into roller derby.

Greta had cemented herself as a teenage girl, but her process of true self growth was just beginning. Over the course of these hobbies… would also come her first teenage relationships.


	9. 60's Queen Blogs

Chapter Nine: 60’s Queen Blogs

Greta next took her love of rock music and channeled it into a love of record players and classic rock. Chloe, ruler of all things wildly vintage and aspiring potential future owner of a brightly colored Volkswagen Bug, was a huge help here.

Greta’s new interest in this kind of music was something they could bond over together.

Greta went the evolution from turntable to record player, and experienced lots of the real-life parts of records, from inconvenient portability to scratched discs. What she eventually turned to doing was keeping a record player and stereo system for blasting in her room but then memorizing all the different classic rock and pop radio stations for travel.

She did have all her favorite music on an mp3 player, but a darkly and classily dressed and serious rather purist sort of listener, she insisted it wouldn’t be the same.

“The music was meant to be listened to in a certain way,” she told her parents rather sniffily, and even Lara rolled her eyes in good-natured exasperation that time.

This kind of music especially often took the form of reminiscence. It could lead to a reminiscence of times past that a younger listener wouldn’t remember in the first place. Greta flicked through countless old photos and accounts, in library books and online, to give her some idea and a keener kind of longing for a place and time she had never truly visited.

But music was also a personal reminiscence. Greta built up over time a treasure trove of personal, real-life memories that different songs reminded her of. Classic rock music for her eventually went from a global reminiscence to a personal one.

Many of her favorite first memories were of times hanging out with her friends. She and Chloe in particular could hang out for hours in her bedroom, eating takeout and girl chatting and listening to different songs. Then there were the songs that played on the radio on the drive to their first throwback concert in Metropolis City. A few songs would always take her back to her teenage school days. And there were the songs that played during rainy summer days staring out the window with mugs of hot cocoa, Greta’s family watching TV behind her, because the thunderstorm was preventing them from going out and working in the fields that day.

There would be other songs for other future important times in her life - but these were the first. And there was music for every feeling - comforting music, angry music, romance music, breakup music, energetic and happy and ecstatic music.

Greta also took to classic rock music blogging on her blog previously reserved for poetry and political and social opinion pieces. As she accrued more hobbies, she would add them into her blog and it would become more and more varied and diverse.

And in her guitar and singing, she began playing the music she liked. It neatly expanded her musical vocabulary and set of skills. Increasingly, scientific texts and rock history texts were going alongside her range of other books.

Greta became over time a sort of walking encyclopedia of classic rock and pop. She even impressed Chloe with the wealth and breadth of her knowledge, thanks to her excellent memory and constant online writing.

First, some basic interesting facts about her classic rock and pop interests:

She didn’t like disco (nor did she particularly enjoy ’69, the Woodstock year). She was more of a 60’s queen than a 70’s queen. ’65, ’66, and ’71 were her favorite years. Simon and Garfunkel, and Heart, were her favorite bands. “With A Girl Like You” by The Troggs was her favorite happy love song, “Taxi” by Harry Chapin her favorite sad love song (she loved the lyrics). Frank Sinatra was her guilty pleasure music. Janis Joplin was her favorite solo artist. She had biographies of Janis Joplin, Diana Ross, Joni Mitchell, and Carole King. The White Album was her favorite Beatles album. She liked Paul McCartney’s solo career the most. She was not averse to rock musicals. Her favorite Black music could be separated into 50’s and early 60’s girl groups, Motown, soul, funk, and she had a special place in her heart for Aretha Franklin alongside Diana Ross.

Then there were her favorites according to timeline chronological introduction:

1963 was when it all really started. But it was pre British Invasion and mostly focused on soft folk rock. Here, she liked the girl groups (The Shirelles, The Crystals, and she loved “He’s So Fine” by the Chiffons) as well as folk music. Her favorites in folk music from this era were Peter Paul and Mary, and Bob Dylan.

1964 was when the British Invasion started, but this era was still mostly focused on soft folk rock. Here was when America was really introduced to the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and the Kinks - to name her three favorite overall bands introduced around this time. She also liked “House of the Rising Sun” by the Animals, “I Only Want To Be With You” by Dusty Springfield, and “Oh! Pretty Woman” by Roy Orbison.

1965 was in her opinion one of the best years in classic rock. Here were introduced the Yardbirds, as well as folk music and Motown. In folk music, she loved the Vogues, and Simon and Garfunkel was one of her favorite bands. In Motown, she liked the Four Tops, the Temptations, and James Brown. Also on her favorites list from this year were “You’ve Got Your Troubles” by the Fortunes and “Go Now!” by the Moody Blues.

1966 was one of her other favorite years. Here were introduced the Troggs, including “With A Girl Like You” as her favorite happy love song. The Kinks successfully changed tune with a very good class social commentary, “A Well Respected Man.” Peter and Gordon recorded “Lady Godiva”, one of her favorite songs. The Supremes recorded “You Can’t Hurry Love”, again a favorite. “Caroline No” was an unusually interesting and disturbing song from the Beach Boys. Frank Sinatra was cemented here as her guilty pleasure music.

But there was even more from 1966 for Greta. She also liked the Hollies, the Monkees, and some of her favorite singles were “Red Rubber Ball” by the Cyrkle, “Elusive Butterfly” by Bob Lind, “Time Won’t Let Me” by the Outsiders, and “Flowers on the Wall” by Statler Brothers.

1967 was the Summer of Love. Here, she enjoyed Cream, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors (with Jim Morrison), Aretha Franklin, and Jackie Wilson. Among her favorite individual songs were “Ruby Tuesday” by the Rolling Stones. She also liked “Windy” by the Association, “Friday On My Mind” by the Easybeats (which would forever take her back to her school days), “Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum, “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tommy James and the Shondells, and “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Frankie Valli.

1968 was the end of soft folk rock and the beginning of hard rock. Here, she found The Who, Deep Purple, and Iron Butterfly. Janis Joplin was her favorite solo artist and she got several biographies on her life. The White Album came out this year, which turned out to be her favorite Beatles album.

1969 had two big highlights, which was Hair the rock musical… and of course, Woodstock. Surprisingly, this was not her favorite year, though she did like a lot of 50’s artists doing new stuff. “Suspicious Minds” by Elvis Presley was excellent, as was “A Boy Named Sue” by Johnny Cash. Some soul was also good from this year, most particularly “Black Pearl” by Sonny James and the Checkmates.

1970 could be separated into two phases in classic rock history - pre Beatles breakup and post Beatles breakup. On this year, Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was a fantastic and comforting song on their last album, but she actually loved the whole album titled after the song. Neil Young’s first solo album was released. James Taylor became a big deal around 1970. She also liked Chicago, and Diana Ross as a solo performer whose biographies she also got.

1971 was again one of the best years in her opinion. Elton John became a big deal around this time, and Paul McCartney’s Ram was released, which was a big deal to Greta because she liked his solo career the most out of the Beatles. She actually liked the Bee Gees better in this, their soft rock ballad era. Then there were Carole King and Joni Mitchell, whose biographies she also got, and the Carpenters. Jesus Christ Superstar as a Broadway musical appeared around this time.

After ’71, her musical interests became fewer, though there was some very good music in the 70’s she was willing to admit. The only year she liked nothing from was ’74, the year disco began. But she liked America, David Bowie, Carly Simon, Pink Floyd, Queen, Pilot, Styx, Boston, Heart was another of her favorite bands, The Police, The Talking Heads, The Cars, funk including “Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry, and The Spinners had a couple of good hits she really liked in R&B.

In singles, she liked “Nights in White Satin” by the Moody Blues, “Taxi” by Harry Chapin, Orleans “Dance With Me”, and “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Öyster Cult. “Taxi” had the unique privilege of being her favorite sad love song - she loved the lyrics.

Classic rock according to many ended in about ’77, when eras like punk became more prevalent.

All this became an important hobby and a vivid part of Greta’s inner world.

But it was during her next hobby that she would first stop riding the bus, and start driving to places like school and the coffee shop. It was also during this next hobby that Greta would meet her first teenage boyfriend - the hobby being fixing up old antique cars. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wish me luck, because I am venturing from here into completely uncharted territory. Greta is definitely not me (far from it, actually), but every part of her life up until now I have known something about on at least one level.
> 
> Next up are fixing up old antique cars, robotics, and roller derby, and the most I know about any of them is that they exist, my Dad took me to the occasional old car show, I saw an article about female junior robotics teams one time, and I watched Whip It once. I am going to have to do massive loads of research for these next three sections, because growing older and having romantic relationships is the only part I’ll already intuitively understand.
> 
> Oh boy. And now the research comes. Here we go.


	10. The Mechanic and the Hot Rodder

Chapter Ten: The Mechanic and the Hot Rodder

Greta’s Dad had always liked motorcycles, but it took a while for her to find a vehicle love of her own. Motorcycles somehow always reminded her of big black jackets and uber masculine guys… And that wasn’t her.

But as a trait passed on from her father to her, she loved working on vehicles - motors and engines - and she loved mechanical tinkering.

Her true passion started when she was passing by a farming neighbor’s yard one day in the family truck as a young teenager and she happened to spot a flash of red out of the corner of her eye during the drive by. A cute but ugly old 1940 red Chevy convertible was rotting away in the yard, currently being used as a chicken coop.

It was a homey image, hens pecking around the beaten up old red car.

The Kent family passed by without much comment, but somehow Greta couldn’t get that image out of her mind. Every time they passed the neighbor’s yard, she’d start looking again for the ruins of the old red convertible… and it never left the yard.

“It’s a shame,” Jonathan said casually when Greta brought it up to him, “something valuable like that going to waste.”

Greta somehow shared that sentiment.

She developed a slow, nagging obsession with the car - with the idea of buying it away from the neighbor and fixing it up for herself. The obsession heightened, and heightened, until finally she told her parents one day that was all she wanted for an entire year’s Christmas and birthday.

“I love that ugly, dumb car,” she said with typical bluntness.

“It’s… pretty broken down,” Martha admitted, looking worried.

But Jonathan’s eyes had begun to gleam with pride. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Let’s see if we can try and fix that.”

Greta swelled up at that smile despite herself and knew that she’d done good.

So Jonathan bought the car for Greta - her only gift that entire year, with the accompanying gift that he would help her try to fix it. “Licenses always come early in farming country, so you’re okay with driving it,” he would say. “Let’s see if we can’t get it up and running in one piece.”

It was terrible.

Greta would always remember standing beside her pondering father, the two of them staring at the old wreck of the car now currently in their back lot near their farm’s barn. They frowned, troubled.

“You’re crazy,” Martha told them, and she just shook her head and walked away.

Greta and Jonathan shared a sideways glance - and a reluctant grin. “Probably,” Jonathan agreed in amusement, still smiling at his daughter.

The paint was chipped and flaking. There were leaks and holes in the convertible rooftop. The patchily screwed doors were not even close to secure or truly closed. They tried revving the engine and it took ages, the poor thing was so broken down. When they finally did get the engine running in a dull thunder, an odd knocking, clicking sound emanated repeatedly from the ruined machine.

“Don’t worry,” Jonathan told his now frantically worried daughter. “We’ll fix it.”

The project took months, and definitely enough money to be worth an entire year of gifts for the Kent farming family. But Jonathan and Greta worked on it faithfully for hours together, covered in grease for countless days as Jonathan showed Greta how to fix up a vehicle and the two of them did up the old antique car.

The car got new rings, adjustments to the connecting rods and main bearings, and Jonathan and Greta had to lap the valves by hand. Then they fixed up the body and added a new paint job, a better one. The old 40’s Chevy convertible got a deep candy apple red sort of color coating.

Greta was personally partial to the color aquamarine, but she knew that ugly, cute car with a lot of personality somehow deserved to be red.

Finally came the new engine, the hardest and most expensive part: a 270 motor along with a Corvette close ratio three speed transmission.

So after that, that was what Greta told people she had as a car. A 1940 Chevy Convertible 270, all fixed up herself. Colored red.

The little red convertible antique car revved loudly to life, fast and smooth and happy with all of its new updates. Greta began driving herself everywhere just to prove she could.

“We never see you anymore,” Martha joked once.

But Greta was proud of her new independence. She was just so proud of that damn car. And Jonathan knew it, one could tell, because he couldn’t stop smiling whenever his daughter was around.

Was the car perfect? No. It would have looked and felt and sounded more perfect if a professional had done the fix-up.

But this fix-up was done with love and care, between a father and his daughter, and the person who thought a professional should have done it instead missed the point.

And so Greta began driving herself places with her early farmer’s license. A surprisingly good driver, she took real self confidence from that. She began driving herself to and from school, to and from her and Chloe and Pete’s coffee hangout The Beanery.

“It’s cool,” not only Chloe but Pete admitted, grinning, “having a friend with a car. Especially when it’s a girl, and she fixed it up herself.”

They told Greta only half teasingly that now she was a true classic - she had not only the outfits but the car and the radio stations to prove it. It was somehow fitting, seeing the classic rock station turn off and the curvy girl who got out of the car fitted in a black film noir style blouse, pencil skirt, pumps, and glasses, her black hair done up classily behind her head and her red lipstick pristine in a pale face.

She was even named after Greta Garbo.

Proud of her car, Greta began taking it to old and antique car shows in the area. Lots of grandfatherly types at these regular car shows became very fond of her… and of her nerdy and growing love for old cars as she did more and more research into them, learning by eye different engines and models and makes.

At one of these old antique car shows, she met Steve.

She found his car first. A new car appeared at the regular car show one day, a 1969 Mercury Cyclone Muscle Car with a Corvette engine and that magical aquamarine color. It was shiny and fantastic with high suspensions; someone had obviously put a lot of love and time into it. Greta found the car and approached closer, fascinated…

“You’re the girl with the red convertible, right?”

Greta turned around. Standing there was, to her surprise, a fellow teenager. He was a boy, older than her but still a teenager, and he had that James Dean sort of look to him.

“This is yours?” She pointed in surprise.

He ran a hand sheepishly through his hair. Whether the move was accidental or on purpose was debatable, but there was no denying how cool it made him look to a young teenage girl.

“Yeah. I noticed you. You’re the only other person my age here. The 1940 270 - it’s yours?”

“Yeah.” Greta smiled slightly. “It’s mine,” she admitted. “This… this is fantastic,” she admitted, waving to his own car.

“Thanks. I race with it.”

“A hot rodder…” She grinned.

“Yeah,” he admitted, still with that sheepish, crooked sort of smile to him. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, his head ducked a little.

A hot rodder who looks like James Dean, she mentally added.

And Greta wasn’t dumb. A part of her knew he was doing it all on purpose - the James Dean look, the hot rodding race car. A part of her knew he liked the fact that she was traditional looking and younger than him.

But that part of Greta wasn’t in control of most teenage girls - not even the Kryptonian ones.

“I spin the bearings racing a lot.” He walked over to the car and his fingers caressed it rather lovingly, his eyes wandering over it.

“You’re big on the suspensions, I can see.” Greta smiled calmly, her eyes sharp, never letting her attraction show itself. “I bet you like loud engines, too, huh?”

“Well, who doesn’t?” He grinned at her.

“… True.” She smiled ruefully despite herself.

“But that’s not you, is it?” Now he looked intent, interested. And he knew and liked cars as much as she did.

“No. I’m more the… technical mechanic with the ugly, cute 1940’s red convertible,” said Greta. “And I’m more of a shower than a racer.”

“Well, I’d love to talk more about cars. It’s rare I meet a girl who’s all that into the hobby. That diner over on 4th is pretty good. Lunch sometime?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

And Greta looked at him, and he was leaned against the racing muscle car in her favorite color, and she wasn’t sure in that moment which she found more attractive - him actually, or the image of him and his car.

Greta smirked. “Sure,” she said positively, “let’s do that.

“But in order to go out to lunch with you, the first thing I’d have to know is your name.”

He paused in surprise - and then grinned, for a moment drawling farm boy open. “Steve,” he said.

She stuck out her hand and shook his. “Greta.”

It was the start of her first relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a relationship, not a new hobby. For those wondering, not to worry. Her final two new hobbies will focus more on Lara and Pete. There will even be pre-canon relationships after this one.


	11. Bad Ideas End Drunk in Parking Lots

Chapter Eleven: Bad Ideas End Drunk in Parking Lots

1.

Steve picked her up to take her to their lunch date at the diner. His car pulled up in front of the farmhouse in a cloud of dust and for a teenage girl who had never been on a date before that was a heady feeling. He got out of the car, older and taller, sports jacket, dark hair falling into his eyes, cool and at ease, a little smirk on his face. He was still in the fast, vrooming muscle car.

“Well,” Martha said, watching with Greta from the window, “it’s easy to see why you said yes to him.”

Greta was smiling to herself a little, geeky and shy, unable to help herself, delighted - openly happy in a way she usually never let herself be. Wonderful butterflies had filled her stomach.

“I hate him,” Jonathan said darkly on sight. And he grumbled and seemed angry all the way through Steve picking Greta up at the door and Greta going out with him to his car.

She was dating an older kid, a high school kid. A car racer. And he was picking her up for their first date in his car.

He drove her there and all the way through the drive and then the lunch at the diner, they talked. They had lunch and sipped at milkshakes. He paid for the whole thing even though he didn’t have to. He was from a farming family, too.

His brown eyes crinkled warmly when he smiled.

And Greta was all caught up.

That was their first date.

2.

Their first kiss was the same day.

Steve drove her back to her place after the date and walked her to the porch. He wasn’t entirely being gentlemanly, though that may have been part of it. She turned back around to him on the porch and he surprised her with a kiss, right on the lips.

Her eyes fluttered and slowly closed… she reached a hand up to his face… he ran his fingers through her hair and made a mess of it, pulling her up against his tight and warm body… his hands were on her waist… they pulled the kiss in deeper and deeper… Greta tried to move her head and lips and keep up though it was her first time; they were essentially making out…

She was startled from the warm darkness and her eyes blinked open when a bang came from behind them. They looked around.

Jonathan Kent was standing there, looking frustrated and glaring. “Greta,” he said meaningfully, “your mother needs you inside for something.”

Martha was standing behind him, hand to her smiling mouth to hold back laughter, making it silently clear she didn’t actually need help with anything at all.

Still flushed and breathless, Greta smiled incredulously at them in a ‘Can you believe this?’ kind of delighted way.

Steve smirked and reluctantly backed away. “Be seeing you,” he told Greta, and he walked back to his car. With an explosion of noise, it sped away.

Greta was left standing there, dazed.

Later, at home in her room in secret, she closed her bedroom door - leaned against it - and sighed and smiled to herself dreamily, clutching at her chest.

3.

When it was clear Greta and Steve were going on a second date, Greta’s friends and family made themselves known.

Pete accepted her decision, friend till the end. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said, simply and noncommittally.

Chloe was as usual a bit more vocal, the protective girlfriend. “He seems dangerous. I’m really worried about you,” Chloe told Greta intently. Chloe and Greta got into a huge fight over it and ended up storming away from each other in frustration.

Martha seemed concerned, but also seemed to have decided not to say anything. She decided privately that Greta needed to learn to make her own mistakes.

Jonathan seemed very angry and annoyed all the time. He grumbled a lot, but would never openly admit to why, stoical and masculine to the end.

Lara asked Greta lots of tentative, insistent questions, to the point where it began to annoy Greta and she began to get snappish. Something about the “courtship” seemed “off” to Lara, but she was not experienced enough with humans to be sure.

4.

Greta started buying Steve lots of little overt and traditional gifts. Candies, for example; she memorized all his favorite kinds. Some of her mother’s eagerness showed through in this, her first relationship. She began to cherish an almost desperate sort of romantic fondness and affection.

Steve’s ways of showing he cared were somewhat more spontaneous and careless. He would see something in a shop that reminded him of Greta and smile a little bit to himself. 

So he bought her something new for her car, for example, that he’d found while out shopping, or a dress he saw in a store that he thought she’d look good in.

5.

Steve began taking Greta to his car races. She never played an active part, wrapped up in his jacket and sitting on the sidelines, watching the racing beside some of Steve’s high school age friends. But she was there.

Greta and Steve worked on their cars together, started going to car shows as a couple.

But the more Greta talked to him, the more she realized that she and Steve didn’t have much else intellectually in common. She tried to engage him in countless little thoughts, but he would never bite.

In fact, he never seemed terribly interested in her thoughts.

6.

She visited his place and met his parents a couple of times, a safer home for them to hang out as an annoyed Jonathan wasn’t there.

They would often cuddle and fall asleep together, warm and close, on the couch. Steve proved to be a traditionalist, so moments like this were just fine with him.

Greta would sometimes wake up and watch him sleep, he so beautiful and peaceful, and an enormous fondness and attachment would rise up in her that she could not explain.

Particularly tender to her were the moments when she saw who he was underneath - the drawling, grinning farm boy.

7.

Their first fight was over Steve.

Steve proved over time to be very controlling. He wanted to dress Greta; he was looking for the good girl traditionalist he thought he’d seen at the car show that day.

The problem was - Greta wasn’t that person. Not underneath the surface. Sharp tongued, sarcastic, strong willed, independent, and revolutionary, the only thing she was that he was looking for… was a secret sympathetic and geeky romantic.

Greta, meanwhile, was starting to realize that between Steve’s lack of intellectual interest and his sexist, controlling nature… she had first fallen in love more with the image of him, the idea of him and his car, much more than she had with him.

A part of her had always known that, of course. But she could finally admit to herself.

She ended up finally snapping and making a sharp comment to him one day when he tried to get her to change outfits. This sparked his own frustrations, and pretty soon they were shouting at each other right there in Steve’s house. Greta was icy, self-righteous, and infuriatingly calm, and this just sparked Steve to start yelling louder, making Greta’s eyes widen and her body steel despite itself.

Greta stormed away, got in her car, and left.

That might have been the end of it. But then Steve called her later that night, and he still loved her, and her heart melted, and it wasn’t.

8.

Steve wanted both - he wanted both to woo and be wooed. He spent a lot of time impressing her, but he fully expected her to spend just as much time impressing him, an attitude independent and sometimes absent-minded Greta rather resented.

He was very jealous. This usually made Greta feel comfortable and secure, but sometimes it went to the point of ridiculousness. If she talked to one of his high school friends for too long, he’d come over darkly and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

Kind of like she was property.

He was the dominant force, and she was okay with that, could even respect it. But after a while… she started to feel like she was being steamrolled.

9.

Steve refused to have sex, still traditionalist till the end. The most he would do was drive them out into the woods and let them make out in his car along to the radio.

“This is a good relationship,” he insisted. “Sex - that’s not what happens in good relationships.”

Greta was puzzled by this. She could respect his conviction, she supposed, but that was bizarre news to her.

10.

Steve did take Greta to high school aged parties, and introduced her to beer and hard liquor. 

Nothing bad actually came from this directly. Greta discovered during this time that alcohol and other human chemical substances did not affect her, so she just gained a reputation for being super good at holding her alcohol.

No frequent drinking, no bad habits, no really terrible experiences. Just high school parties sometimes and drinking the strong stuff, the out in the country stuff. Steve even took her to a couple of tailgate parties.

Greta found in a private part of her mind that the social aspect of parties tired her. But she had fun nonetheless, so she never complained about this.

But they did break up the night of a high school aged party.

Steve had been drinking a great deal that night. He got drunk and very belligerent, and he started ordering Greta around, commanding her to do things for him. She put up with this with calm iciness for a few minutes, the surrounding people alternating between snickering and looking away awkwardly.

Then, at last, she took Steve by the collar and dragged him out into the parking lot.

She looked around at him - and then she exploded.

Months of pent up frustrations and accusations came pouring out.

A drunk Steve reacted in high fashion, and they ended up screaming at each other out in the parking lot. It was a dramatic end to a rather dramatic relationship. All of Greta’s pent-up rage just came pouring out.

That was the night she learned that trying to repress one’s feelings in a relationship didn’t work - not even, and perhaps not especially, for Kryptonians.

And then Greta stormed away again - for a second and more permanent time.

They’d gone to the party in Steve’s car, so she ended up walking home crying along the side of the road through Smallville. She could have speed run back to her home instead, but somehow the long, dreary walk helped her to work out her feelings and calm down.

Finally, she caved and used her cell phone to call her parents. They came and picked her up.

The drive home in the old truck was silent for a while. Greta was clearly miserable. Even Jonathan seemed solemn and oddly calm.

“… This can’t continue,” said Jonathan at last.

“He’s right, honey,” said Martha sympathetically, putting her hand on Greta’s shoulder. “It can’t.”

But the next day it wasn’t a problem. Because Steve called her and quite abruptly broke up with her.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” he said in a tone of clear frustration. Like she was the one who had fucked up, not him.

For a moment, Greta was so furious she couldn’t see straight. Then it passed into sheer annoyance.

“I was going to call you and say the same thing to you,” she said flatly. “So that’s decided.”

Then she hung up on him with clinical terseness.

Greta and Steve never spoke to each other again. It helped that they were in different grades and different schools.

Greta stopped going to the car races. Steve stopped going to the antique car shows. This was never discussed, simply decided.

Greta nursed her wounds for a little while. It was more of a frustrating end to her first relationship than a heartbreaking one. She was more upset, she realized, at losing the idea of Steve, than she was at losing Steve.

She apologized to Lara. “It is fine,” said Lara, her eyes sympathetic, up in the Fortress barn loft as her usual hologram emanating from the watch. “You just learned more about being human than I could ever teach you.”

… And she apologized to Chloe.

“You were right. I should have listened to you,” Greta admitted, as they sat on the steps of their middle school one afternoon after classes had ended. “The relationship was a horrible idea. He ended up being a dick. 

“… I’m sorry.”

Greta looked over at Chloe.

Chloe sighed. “It’s okay,” she said. “You learned a lot. And I’m sure there will be times in my life where I walk blindly into something that everyone else knows is a horrible idea.

“I think it’s a teenage girl thing.” Chloe smirked.

Greta lightened and laughed, feeling relief and happiness for the first time in a while.

“Hey!” Pete called from outside the bus. “You guys done having your girl fest?!”

“Shut up, Pete!” Chloe called back, and Pete grinned because that meant yes, and Greta laughed harder.

Eventually, Greta decided the best thing to do was to throw herself back into keeping busy.

So she decided to consult her list and add another new hobby she’d wanted to try for a while.

Greta was deeply interested in science. It was even in her blood. And she’d heard there was a local junior female robotics team here in Smallville, right alongside the male team… 

Maybe there were some more new people she could meet. Maybe she could start proving herself to be more than vintage.


	12. More Than Vintage

Chapter Twelve: More Than Vintage

And so Greta set herself to becoming “more than vintage” - to making her first robot on her own using research and tools.

Robots had several components: power, sensors so they didn’t run into things, manipulation or hands, movement or feet, sound speakers, and some sort of electrical brain - whether it be in the robot or through a remote control. Their bodies were typically made out of a conglomeration of parts from other items, fixed to each other using mechanical tools and materials.

To start out with, Greta’s first robot was a cute little mousebot - a tiny mouse-like toy that was fast and could either race, or scurry across floors to entertain animals and pets. To make a mousebot, she took little wheels off a toy car, tiny motors, and a battery holder filled with batteries. She mounted them onto a cut piece of foam board using mechanical tools and hot glue. The motor was started up, and the mousebot wheeled around to amuse any surrounding pets. Electrical sensors could be attached so the mousebot ran away from pets and didn’t run into any walls. In that case, the sensors were attached using connecting pieces of insulated mechanical wire, another common robotics device that pieced together different components of a more complex robot. A remote control device could also be used instead of a motor with sensors, but to similar effect.

Later, of course, other materials and types of robots could be built up and used, with increasing complexity. Electric toothbrushes and toy cars with little motors were also good materials for beginning robots. From there, the robotics person built up into making little electrical humanoid robots that could wheel around and grab basic objects, for example, but the layout was the same: a little bot built out of other often metal parts from other things, put together using mechanical tools and materials, and using those same basic components outlined in the beginning. Including, if one wanted, a connecting sound speaker stereo system.

If one wanted to make a full-on humanoid robot, each little piece would have to be built up and connected to the battery motor with electrical wire - hands, wheels, everything. The most an amateur’s robot could do was wheel around, grab things, race, or if the robot was unusually complex and remote operated they could theoretically be used to fight clumsily if built correctly.

Once Greta started building robots, her Kryptonian brain and knowledge helped - Lara even used her computer database to assist Greta in her endeavors, so that was something Greta and hologram Lara could do in private in Greta’s bedroom together. Lara was delighted; she genuinely loved being helpful especially when it came to something like battle or science - not her specialties on Krypton.

Greta then took her robots to the local junior female robotics team and asked to join. The others were impressed, and she was brought into the team quickly. “We need all the mechanical, scientific girls we can get,” their also-female Black coach said.

Joining the female robotics team was wonderful for Greta. She loved meeting other girls who felt empowered, who were unafraid to be scientific, who loved mechanical things just as much as she did and were awed by her car as she grinned beside it. Many of them even shared some of her other interests, and were just as nerdy as she was.

It was a pretty amazing feeling, being able to connect with other unconventional girls that way. And it changed Greta’s perception of herself and how she interacted with other people. Now not only was she vintage, but she could tell people: “I’m a scientist. I build robots.”

It changed the ways in which people saw her - she was not only a vintage queen, but a fiercely progressive nerd. And she had more cool female friends to hang out with than she used to.

Competing against the boys’ robotics team was super fun. The Smallville teams would get together and put their robots through tiny races and little remote controlled fights. There was competition, but mostly there was just a lot of laughter. It was all in good fun. A bunch of nerds of similar age got together and chatter appeared just as much as competition did.

Meanwhile, Lara saw this and felt a certain sentimentality for Jor. “I wish your father could have been around to see this side of you,” she would often say longingly to Greta in private.

So they would sit cross legged in Greta’s Fortress loft. Greta would ask curious questions, and for once Lara would talk unusually freely about Jor, the massive specter of Greta’s intensely warrior scientific, cold but loving, tall dark and handsome biological father that usually remained unspoken. 

Lara told Greta a lot she hadn’t told her as a little girl, reminiscing with distant, misty eyes. Things about Jor, about scientists, about Krypton. Greta responded with equal openness and honesty, because that was just the kind of open, even relationship she had with hologram Lara.

“Your father would have loved you doing this,” Lara told Greta more than once about her interest in science. “… I see so much of you in him every day,” she admitted next softly one night, and Greta paused in surprise, feeling a strange ping in her chest. “It’s not just me, Kala, who is inside you.”

Maybe that was why Greta would always remember the words. Because no one besides Lara ever called her by her Kryptonian birth name. She glimpsed for a moment a future that she would never have, as a sensual Kryptonian priestess for Rau with an unusual, serious noble family interest in science.

Her new, open connection to Lara aside, home-made robots made with spare materials and little battery motors began littering Greta’s loft and bedroom, bringing her things and doing little things for her. She smiled, thanked, and named each one of them.

She did get to know a boy whose unusually well to do family was from town, Asher, over her time starting out on the robotics team. A thin, friendly, handsome boy with glasses and deceptively strong and progressive opinions, he was on the opposing male robotics team. He was her age and he always struck her as a sweet, somewhat quiet nerd. They talked for a long time, especially compared to her time with Steve, before he asked her one day.

“Do you, uh… want to go out sometime?”

She looked over at him during the latest robotics tournament in surprise. He’d blushed and looked away awkwardly. They’d been in the middle of talking sci fi and he’d blurted out the question, like he’d been working up the nerve to ask her for a while.

Maybe she should have looked before she leaped. But she was still a little sore, and she liked Asher, and he was so refreshingly unlike Steve.

She smiled. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll go out with you sometime.” She grinned as she threw his words back at him teasingly.

Then she laughed as Asher looked up in disbelief. He was obviously and openly stunned that she’d said yes. And then delight slowly worked its way over his earnest features.

“O… Okay!” he said, beaming. “Let’s do this, then! I was thinking... the aquarium... and then ice skating.”

Greta smiled. "That sounds wonderful," she admitted warmly, and Asher blushed, pleased.


	13. Nice Boy

Chapter Thirteen: Nice Boy

1.

On their first date, they paid half and half. They visited the aquarium and then went ice skating.

Asher grinned and joked with her, eager and excited, pointing out different fish in the dark and glowing aquarium hallways. They held hands ice skating on the rink afterward, zooming around, Greta smooth on her feet and giggling when Asher was surprisingly clumsy. 

(He grinned sheepishly and bore up very well under her giggling.)

They finished off the date cuddling up with hot cocoas off to the side of the ice skating rink.

“You’re good at that,” said Asher, nodding to the rink.

“I just wish I could find a way to channel my ability on my feet into a more masculine sport,” said Greta. “I love sports, but… I love rough, contact sports, you know? It’s hard for a girl.”

She looked out over the rink, troubled and longing. 

Asher was the one to say it: “What about roller derby? It's skating, right?”

Greta looked over at him in awed, wide-eyed surprise.

2.

Their first kiss was soft, gentle, and romantic, mutually tender. 

They stood underneath a downtown Smallville street lamp outside the skating rink. It was a quiet moment. Around them was a beautiful moonlit country night.

Tears nearly filled Greta’s eyes. For the first time she understood what it was like to be treated well, and it was a feeling she would never forget.

3.

Greta got lots of teasing.

But overall her friends and family were much happier with her choice in boyfriends this time. Asher, it was generally said, was “a nice boy.”

And if Greta didn’t really feel much for him… well, he was good for her, and a nice boy.

She assumed that would be enough.

4.

Asher regularly brought her flowers - her favorites, big bouquets of new white roses and white lilies for her room and her loft.

In turn, Greta lavished just as much shy, eager attention on him. She regularly bought him little pieces of merchandise and figurines from all his favorite fandoms.

Their relationship was a mutual process of the two handing each other things as they beamed as hard as they could, nudging their glasses shyly up their noses.

5.

They had wonderful conversations - a good mental connection, long intellectual discussions, and shared interests. Greta was delighted by this; it was something she’d never had with Steve.

But with Asher, it was easy.

There was lots of shy, eager cuddling on sofas in the relationship, though both partners were too tense to ever really easily fall asleep.

They almost never fought. Asher tried to agree with Greta on everything. At the same time, he was very understanding on a genuine level, and it was a deeply undramatic relationship.

6.

Asher clumsily tried to woo Greta. He wasn’t good at it - it never worked that well - but he tried anyway, to give the poor boy credit.

Greta was mischievously much better at making Asher blush and all his walls fall down, finding herself surprisingly good at being funny and seductive. 

This difference in ability made Asher self conscious. Slowly, he began bickering with her more, and the fights began. Greta became indignant that Asher was so bothered by her ability to be seductive, and the fights worsened.

Greta still didn’t have much intense depth of feeling for Asher. He was still “a nice boy.”

7.

Asher wasn’t… jealous, exactly. What he was… was complicated.

Asher was very submissive. Greta could handle this, but it tended to make her irritable and uncomfortable, especially when combined with his next trait.

He was very… clingy.

He demanded lots of attention, lots of intimacy. More than even Greta could handle comfortably. Soon she felt like all of her time was taken up by Asher.

And maybe it was because she felt nothing for him, but this wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

To top things all off and make them more confusing, Asher would make out with Greta but he refused to have sex. He kept putting the idea off because it made him too nervous.

At the same time, he was morally against drinking. It made him deeply uncomfortable. And he always got huffy and disapproving whenever she had so much as a drink at a party herself.

When Greta pointed out this was not particularly progressive, Asher got defensive, which irritated the logical, forceful Kryptonian part of Greta that had spoken.

8.

She realized one night soberly alone in her room that they never fought, but all they ever were was irritated at each other.

And they were always together.

9.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I feel confined in this relationship,” Greta admitted, pained and shamefaced.

They were sitting on the swings at the local playground. Asher looked pale white like he’d just been punched in the gut. It was a terrible and guilt-inducing sight.

“W-well… but… why? I try really hard for you!”

“I know you do! And I appreciate that about you! But… I just…” Greta looked away and winced, looked down. “I can’t do this,” she admitted softly.

Asher stood, suddenly furious in a way he’d never been before. “You,” he accused fiercely, “would never be happy in any relationship, would you?!”

This was dramatic but also a low blow - it hurt Greta in a way most things didn’t. Her eyes widened… and she slowly began to doubt herself in relationships. That insidious seed crept in.

“… I’m sorry,” she admitted. “This one’s on me.” And she already felt the regret and finality of the decision, even as she said it. “I rebounded a little too much with you. I liked you and I convinced myself that meant I… loved you, liked you. 

“You were good to me and I let you down.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Asher’s jaw clenched; there were tears in his eyes. “Well,” he said. “Good for you.”

And he walked away and left her sitting there on the swings feeling very small and lost and alone.

He would avoid her eyes for a few weeks at robotics competitions and then they would talk again. But there was always a bit of frost and distance between those two particular opposing robotics team members after that, an awkward acquaintance left in the relationship’s place.

10.

Greta began to wonder to herself. She didn’t let anyone see yet, but she wondered.

She wondered if she was just bad in relationships. She wondered, once again, if she’d ever find the person for her.

But meanwhile she was about to throw herself into sports. (Much to Pete’s delight - Pete was not only a fun-loving nerd, but a sports fanatic.) 

Asher had a lasting impact. Greta had decided to take his advice and try out for junior roller derby, as they all began to move slowly and inevitably into the beginning of high school.

Her strength control was perfect. If she could have sex, as Lara had said, she could definitely do contact sports.

So her parents had agreed to sign the permission slip.

That wasn’t where the rub was for Greta. The conflict for her… that would come later.


	14. Zombie Stardust

Chapter Fourteen: Zombie Stardust

High school began for Greta, Chloe and Pete forever by her side as she walked through those big double doors of Smallville High for the first time. And meanwhile, she got the permission slip signed to try out for junior roller derby - women’s, of course.

Her parents had mixed feelings. “I don’t think it sounds safe,” said Martha worriedly.

“I don’t understand it,” said Lara in utter bewilderment.

“It’s… just… it’s not… a girl thing,” said Jonathan tentatively, as if trying to be delicate.

But Greta was insistent. “I want to try it out!” she said stubbornly. “Body slams, roller skates, stage names, costumes and all! I’ve been going to games and - they’re so exciting! The women skating are so cool! Guys!” There was a gleam in her eyes. “I think this could be my sport!”

“It… is safe for her to try by now,” Lara admitted, and she was the expert.

So in the end, they reluctantly signed her permission slip to try out at the local Smallville rink and home team.

But first, Greta had to practice around the rink before tryouts.

After stumblingly getting comfortable on skates, and after getting over her irrational fears of falling or crashing, and after getting all the equipment, from skates and plates to helmet and mouth guard…

She then had to practice moves. These included stops, crossovers, balancing on one foot, 180 degree turns, and backwards skating. She went from the conventional roller skating, to the intense.

From there, the typical training moved on into harder skating and crashing, as well as 5 person team maneuvers. But Pete, the nerdy and excited sports fanatic, was with Greta every step of the way during this training. His crush may have been on Chloe, but he’d known Greta all his life and he wanted to be able to help her in the sport that she loved.

He was with her every practice session, watching from the stands and giving her pointers, helping her improve. He jokingly and enthusiastically called himself the “Queenmaker,” roller girls being queens instead of kings.

Greta’s goal was to become the Lead Jammer, a frontal position. Jammers were the points scorers on a team who pushed their way through the blockers. The blockers’ job was both to try to push the opposing jammers off the field in body slams, and to protect their own team with body slams and defensive maneuvers. So Jammers needed speed, and blockers needed brutal hits, but all needed excellent skating.

Oddly enough? Think Quidditch.

Each team was allowed 5 skaters on the track at any given time. Each team was allowed 10 skaters in all. And there was a spot open on the Smallville team.

Pete supportively attended the tryouts out on the same track as well, sitting and cheering for Greta from the stands - something she appreciated more than she could put into words, as she was for once dead nervous, standing there in equipment amid the other potential skaters.

There were two adult female managers, and an older girl who captained the team. Together, they asked the potential skaters to skate close together in a line around the slanted track. They then had the potentials do some basic maneuvers, testing just how skilled each person at tryouts already was.

Finally, one of the managers came over to her. “Kent, right?” she asked, tough and stoical. “Your ideal position?”

Greta wasn’t sure how good she’d done, but she took a risk. “Lead Jammer.”

The woman barked out a harsh laugh and grinned. “Ambition. I like it,” she said. “Well, you can make your way up the ranks for the position you want, if you’re good enough, after you start team practice sessions.”

Greta brightened. “You mean -?”

“Oh, yeah. You’re a natural at any kind of sporty, martial movement. You’re in.”

It was an ecstatic, elated feeling.

The Smallville team was Seltzer’s Skating Queens - named after Seltzer, the founder of the sport who insisted on women being allowed into it. No no. 1 was ever used on a team player, in honor of the first busload of revolutionary roller derby skaters who died in a crash in the 1930’s. Greta was no. 89. 

She had two to three practices per week, plus traveling by bus to competitions like in any sport. In addition to the two managers and one older girl captain, the Seltzer Skating Queens carried “jeerleaders” with them. These were people who came to every game to sit in the stands in signs with colorful paraphernalia, the two sets of jeerleaders screaming and calling insults loudly at each other from the stands.

Pete attended games and sat in the jeerleaders section, cheering for Greta during matches - sometimes even away games. Pete was ever faithful, even going to concerts with her after games. He was the kind of simple, blissfully uncomplicated supportive guy friend that every girl deserved to have at least once in her lifetime.

He thought what she was doing was “really cool” - and as he grinned, it even seemed like he meant it.

Greta’s roller girl name became Zombie Stardust. For her skating outfit, in addition to equipment, she wore lots of black fishnet and dark eye makeup, dark shorts and a dark spaghetti strap tank top, her glasses, blue and purple and green stars painted down the side of her face, and her black hair tied up in a bun. With her curvy, sporty body, she truly looked like a roller girl.

It was the first time she had an alternate identity. Zombie Stardust kicked ass and took names. She could do anything, even the things Greta Kent couldn’t.

There was the punishing fresh meat part of training, and then she was officially drafted when she tested physically capable of that. Slowly, she proved herself on the track during competitions and training, being tough and almost impossible to knock over and fast. Slowly, she proved herself also as intelligent during defense/offense strategy sessions.

But there was more that was wonderful about being a roller girl. Becoming friends with her tough, kickass female teammates. The adrenaline of speeding around and slamming into people during games, her face fierce and determined. 

And her roller girl name being called over the speakers during match commentary: “Zoooombie Stardust!” As she skated by and the cameras flashed in these big skating stadiums.

But she got one of her last big life lessons in the form of Sean.

Sean was a punk, distant, cool indie musician boy. He was slim with longish silvery dyed hair. His band had been assigned to play after her team’s performances, to up the Smallville High team’s attendance and views. Greta attended the concerts with Pete, but the actual ten roller girls always had backstage passes, for whatever that was worth with an amateur band.

Greta and Sean got to talking a number of times after a number of shows, both still covered in sweat. Greta grinned and jeered and laughed, could intelligently talk music, but it was hard to deny Sean was attractive. He would lean against the wall or the door, smirk and look deep into her eyes.

Her last lesson: He didn’t care. And she loved that.

“I think you’re really tough,” he said once. “I admire that.”

And then the night he asked her: “There’s this musical festival out on Smallville fair grounds this weekend. It has stalls and everything. You want to come?”

Greta knew what that meant. And she still said yes.


	15. I Like How You Don't Care About Me

Chapter Fifteen: I Like How You Don’t Care About Me

1.

Their first date was a music festival out on Smallville fair grounds. They drove there together in Greta’s car.

They walked around, buying things from stalls and drinking underage. They had fun cheering for the bands on the small stages. 

Sean emanated carelessness and fun from everything he did. Again, he didn’t care, and again, Greta loved that.

2.

Their first kiss was at the festival, after a couple of beers. They made out right there in the middle of a concert, music blasting on the stage in front of them. Sean grabbed at her and held her close and they kissed long and hard.

It was an exultant, adrenaline fueled sort of affair - rather like roller derby itself.

3.

Greta’s family and friends had mixed feelings.

Like her, they were starting to wonder about her choices in relationships and guys. An uneasiness had filled them.

4.

Sean was not much of a gift giver. He even reacted rather sarcastically to receiving gifts. So in this, a secretly sensitive and hurt Greta quickly subsided.

He was a philosopher. She could get behind that, though there was something a bit more scientific about her philosophy. They both loved music of different eras and in different ways, and they both enjoyed arguing, so they had that connection as well.

5.

They never cuddled, but they did fall asleep together often - lazily, somewhere side by side, slowly sinking into a peaceful, warm slumber.

6.

In their first fight, she accused him of not caring about her. He retreated inside a shell, as he usually did.

And for once, absurdly, Greta was being the emotional one. And she hated that.

7.

Sean demanded that he be wooed - that he be chased, that he be worshipped. It was entirely one way.

There was no jealousy in that relationship, not even the comforting kind. Sean didn’t actually seem to care much what Greta did at all. It was like he’d already laid back and turned himself off.

But he was dominant - always, had to be dominant.

And for independent, headstrong, sarcastic Greta… this began to rankle.

But she told herself she could do a functional relationship. She could stick this one out. That was how mature relationships worked, right?

8.

They did drink - sometimes, but not frequently, and they didn’t get drunk. He let her drive them places.

Finally, she had struck a nice, even balance in at least a couple of areas.

9.

Her first time having sex was with Sean. Greta lost her virginity at the beginning of high school, at fourteen almost fifteen.

The sex was surprisingly soft and gentle, a quiet and dark affair at a friend’s house after a joint away show/competition.

Greta reached out tenderly to touch Sean’s face, and for once Sean was also soft and tender, and in that moment they had totally connected and everything was beautiful.

Just as with roller derby, Greta didn’t hurt anybody at all.

10.

He met her at those same now-empty fairgrounds for the breakup talk.

“Why… why are you doing this?” said Greta, upset.

“I…” He ran a hand through his hair. He still looked exasperated, bored, glancing away. “Look, I found someone else, okay?”

Casually. Like it didn’t mean anything.

“How can you be so -? Was all of this nothing to you?!” 

And Sean couldn’t speak, and that was honest. He was honest right till the end, and she wasn’t good enough and never would be.

-

Greta’s roller team ended up firing Sean’s band. Greta ended up sitting amid everyone - Chloe, Pete, Martha, Jonathan, even Lara, who had temporarily solidified herself and told Chloe and Pete she was a “concerned aunt.”

They all sat in the Kent living room and just - talked.

“I’ve fucked everything up,” said Greta in a hoarse, choked voice, tears trying desperately to hold themselves back in her eyes. Her dogs came and put their heads on her knees and a few tears leaked themselves out. “I’ve fucked so many things up. I’m no good in relationships, I’ve - all my firsts, I’ve just wasted them away!”

The words echoed ringing in the silence.

Martha reached over and put a hand over Greta’s. “Honey. Look at me,” she said firmly.

Greta at last reluctantly looked up, almost hesitant.

“Those first memories - they’re good ones, right? You had favorite songs, everything? Don’t think of what happened after - just the good memories, the happy ones. They are happy, right?”

Greta paused… nodded, confused.

“Don’t let what happened afterward spoil what happened in that moment,” said Martha seriously. “And as for everything else…

“You learned. You picked a guy out of attraction who didn’t treat you well, you rebounded with a guy you had no passion for who pretended to be nice, and then you fell for the guy who didn’t care about you.

“Those are all very teenage girl mistakes.” Martha looked at her meaningfully and a few people in the room knew what she secretly meant. Human mistakes. “And they don’t define a person’s entire romantic future.”

“For God’s sake, Greta, you’re only fifteen! Give yourself some time to find the one, will you?” said Jonathan incredulously.

“To speak to that…” said Chloe, uncomfortable but obviously trying to help. “I mean, I’ve heard all girls go through a period where they date guys, even older guys, who treat them like shit and aren’t good people.

“Well. This was your time. You learned from this, and you’re more mature now. And you do have some good memories. These are just experiences, learning curves.”

“So it’s all fine.” Martha smiled gently.

“Don’t get down on yourself, Greta,” said Pete. “We’re all looking for that someone.”

“Yes. All of us,” said Lara quietly. She gave Greta a single meaningful glance and Greta knew what it meant: Even Kryptonians. "You are good enough. And you don't have to put up with bad behavior. You even learned to listen to your friends and family. Become wiser from these things."

Greta sniffed, still a little teary-eyed - and she smiled. “You know, I really don’t say this enough, but I love you guys so much,” she said in a watery voice.

“Ah, great, now she’s getting emotional.” Pete grinned and everyone at last let out a chuckle.


	16. Gotta Love High School

Chapter Sixteen: Gotta Love High School

Greta’s first teenage high school party at her farm house was a small, intimate birthday get-together with her collected friends.

She smiled from her home and looked out over the scene. 

Loud music was blasting. Movies were playing in the background. Pizza boxes were open. 

But no one seemed to be paying attention to that.

The roller girls were delightedly playing with Maxie and Marco the dogs. Jonathan and Martha were laughing and talking with the old antique car show guys. Chloe and Pete were laughing and chatting rather intimately in a corner. The nerds both male and female from robotics club were having a remote control powered robots fight in the middle of the living room, laughing and cheering.

She had another day after high school at the coffee shop with her two best friends to look forward to tomorrow, another fun car ride.

Lara dared speak from the glowing blue watch, not heard or noticed over all the chaos and the noise. “What do you think, high school student?” she asked playfully. “A good life?”

“… Yes,” Greta admitted, smiling. “I am single and for now I am okay with that. I am happy.

“Yes. A good life.”

-

Greta was ranting in a Smallville High hallway with Chloe and Pete one day.

“I don’t get dances!”

“That’s just because you can’t dance,” said Chloe, smirking, “and you hate pretenses and costumes.”

Pete chuckled.

“That - that is not all it is!” said Greta defensively, blushing. “I just… I am opinionated on the bad merits of coolness, okay? I think dances like the upcoming homecoming dance are overrated.

“I don’t like dances and I’m sticking to it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded once.

“Your newfound single status wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that, would it?”

But it wasn’t one of Greta’s friends who had spoken, and it wasn’t in a playful voice. Everybody whirled around.

Felice Chandler, blonde and in knockoff Prada pink, was standing there smirking. Cheerleader, head of drama club, Felice was a walking bossy stereotype.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Greta asked cautiously, frowning.

“I just think you’re very interesting.” Felice got closer in a wave of perfume and her vicious, cat-like smile widened. “Three whole relationships by the end of your first months of high school. That has to be some sort of record.

“And now suddenly, when you can’t get anybody… not interested in the dance?” Felice pouted in a baby voice.

“No one thinks slut shaming is funny, Felice,” said Chloe from behind Greta in a deceptively quiet voice.

“No? I happen to think it’s hilarious.” Felice giggled and so did her posse.

Greta got right up in her face and snarled. “Eat shit and die, Felice,” she said softly. “I finally have a good sense of myself, and you’re not tearing me down.”

And Greta walked away, leaving a displeased Felice Chandler in her wake.

But somehow, Greta thought that wouldn’t be the end of her time with Felice or her newfound reputation… as everyone in the high school hallway stared after Greta Kent, who was already opinionated and weird. Who already professed not to like popularity and school dances. Who was newly single but already had three ex boyfriends.

Greta knew it wouldn’t be the end. And it wasn’t.

But Greta did have a good sense of herself at last, was finally wise and knowledgeable and sharp and strong at last. And she decided no one - absolutely no one - was taking that away. She stood defiant - a rebel to the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this is a lot of updates at weird hours. But I wanted to finish this up. Mother’s Day for Americans is tomorrow, and I want to have a whole writing-free day set aside for my mother.
> 
> Wow. I started writing this on the 7th of May, I finish this now in the early hours of the 13th of May. What a ride. It’s been great, guys, thank you for being here.
> 
> And now. Guess what? We get to canon.
> 
> The pre-canon part is over.


	17. The End of the Beginning

Chapter Seventeen: The End of the Beginning

Greta was still asleep when her Mom burst through the bedroom door and she groaned, stuffing her head into her pillow.

“Greta Verity Kent, if you don’t get up, you’re going to be late for school,” said Martha, all-business. “And what is with all this mess?” she despaired, looking around at the clutter on the floor and lifting up a spare shirt. 

Around her was Greta’s bedroom, darkly fashionable and minimalist with glass, copper, antiques, and white roses and lilies. A vivid portrait of the Milky Way was taped above Greta’s headboard. The room was indeed a mess. As Martha spoke, a little robot zoomed over and picked up a spare piece of cloth.

“You can program robots and you can’t get them to clean your room?” Martha despaired.

“I defy the human attempt to give my life order,” Greta muttered into her pillow, and Martha rolled her eyes.

“I’ve been setting an alarm to go off every five minutes for the past fifteen,” said Lara exasperatedly from the sleek silver bedside watch.

“Alright, alright,” Greta grumbled, sitting upright in a big T shirt, her long black waves of hair rumpled. “I’m getting up.”

“Find a date for the dance yet?” Martha asked.

“I’m not going to the homecoming dance, Mom!” Greta snapped, irritated. “I’ve already said that. The homecoming dance is a stupid formality designed to test the popularity of -”

“You should go with your friends. It could be fun,” said Martha evenly, and she bustled out of the room.

Greta sighed gustily. “Yeah. Being a third wheel on their inevitable first date would be great,” she muttered now that her mother was gone.

“Attitude,” said Lara from the watch patiently in reminder.

Greta stood to her feet to get dressed. The little robot zoomed over with some new clothes, and Greta paused and smiled down at him.

“Thanks, Toggle,” she said fondly. She took the clothes and the cute little robot beeped cheerfully and zoomed away.

Greta strode over to her computer on her desk, refreshed the main page once to check her blog for any new notifications. Then she strode back into the main part of her bedroom to get dressed.

She stuffed three big new books for fun reading into her book bag before heading downstairs. A Stephen King novel, a new book of poetry, and Picture of Dorian Grey. Her guitar in its case as usual was at her side on the side that wasn’t holding the book bag.

She was dressed in her usual clothes soon enough and she went down the oak stairs into the kitchen. Glasses on, watch on, film noir librarian look in place, hair piled up behind her head, dark eyeliner and red lipstick in place on a pale face.

Greta poured new food into two dog bowls and Marco and Maxie the cocker spaniels scrambled over and began eating eagerly. “Get stuffed, guys,” said Greta, patting them and standing.

Then she went to the refrigerator, opened it up, grabbed a bottle of milk, and began drinking straight from the bottle.

Martha saw, tutted, bustled over, and snatched the milk bottle away.

“It tastes better out of the bottle!” Greta protested indignantly.

“Where did you learn your manners?” said Martha in exasperation.

Greta smirked. “On a farm?” she joked teasingly.

Jonathan entered the kitchen through the back screen door, dusty from work in the fields, and took off his jacket.

He smirked at his daughter. “Well, good afternoon, sleepyhead,” he said meaningfully.

“I can still do my chores around the farm when I get home from school,” said Greta matter of factly. “I can run faster than the speed of light and lift tractors one-handed, Dad, I think I’m okay. Secret alien who only pretends to be officially adopted, remember?”

She waved her talking computer watch that held the brain of her mother.

Jonathan chuckled despite himself. “Fair enough. Hey, you left me a note last night. Why do you want new skates?”

“Because there are new ones at the local shop in my favorite aquamarine color,” said Greta easily without looking.

“No,” said Jonathan.

“Aww, please? At least think about it,” said Greta.

Jonathan walked over and paused beside her. “… I’ve thought about it. No.”

“Dad!” Greta complained, and Jonathan just laughed as he sat himself down.

“You’re perfectly fine with the skates you already have,” he said.

“Oh, and don’t forget, I have class tonight, so you two are on your own,” said Martha, who was bustling around the kitchen brewing coffee. “Greta’s going to have to make dinner.”

“Kay,” Greta said, uncaringly, not looking up from the app game on her phone, as she took a seat at the table.

“Greta, please look me in the eye as I leave you in charge of responsibility for feeding my family,” said Martha.

Greta looked up with wide, annoyed eyes. “Okay. Come on, Mom, I’ve cooked on your community college class nights a million times before.”

“Thank you,” said Martha. “Now… are you sure there’s nothing going on at school?”

“… This again,” said Greta. She looked away. “Everything’s fine at school,” she said quietly.

“Wow,” said Martha deadpan, as Jonathan looked concerned, “that was convincing.”

Greta sighed impatiently and stood. “I’m going to school,” she said snappishly, and she left out the back door as her parents stared after her in something close to worry.

They could sense something was wrong.

Greta got into her lovingly and imperfectly fixed-up red 1940 Chevy Convertible 270, Pisces stickers on the back bumper, a hanging black and white signed photo of Greta Garbo her namesake in a locket hanging from her front mirror, throwing her stuff in the back of the car and turning on the radio. “This is classic rock station one o three point seven, coming to you live from Metropolis City, reaching all the way out into the back woods of Smallville, Kansas…”

Greta was frowning in pondering, thoughtful worry, secretly vulnerable when she considered school, as she pulled out of the back lot near the barn and drove underneath the Kent Farm sign, past the red mail box, and down the dusty fields and roads toward Smallville proper.

She parked in the Smallville High student lot, got out, and headed up behind Chloe and Pete who were leaning close and talking together quietly. Greta paused behind them and smirked.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” she said, purposefully loud, knowing it was budding couple stuff, and they jumped horribly.

“… Oh.” Chloe blushed. “Pete asked me to the homecoming dance.”

Greta gave a wide, shit-eating grin, her eyes narrowing. “And?” she said playfully. “Did you break his little heart?” Greta knew she hadn’t.

“No!” said Chloe defensively. “I said I’d go!”

“Good,” said Greta smoothly, surprising them both, and she fell into step beside them on the way to the Smallville High main building. "I'm starving," she announced.

"You're always starving," said Chloe.

"True enough," Greta admitted with self honesty.

“So you’re still not going to homecoming?” Pete asked. “And you’re still claiming it’s not because you’re an awkward shit dancer who hates dressing up?”

“Nope. I’ve made my opinions on the stupidity of high school dances and popularity contests clear,” said Greta. “You still trying out for the football team?”

“I’ve made my stance on not becoming one of those geeky hazed freshmen equally clear,” said Pete darkly.

Greta chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“What hazing ritual are you trying to avoid?” said Chloe in bewilderment, worried.

“Well, in this case the Scarecrow tradition,” said Greta. “Every year before the big homecoming game, the football players select a freshman, take him out to Reilly Field, strip him down to his boxers, paint an S on his chest, and then string him up like a scarecrow. We don’t have to worry. It’s always a dude.” She smirk-smiled cheerfully.

“Ugh. It sounds like years of therapy waiting to happen,” said Chloe, making a face.

“Why do you think I’m trying out for the football team? Figure they won’t choose one of their own,” said Pete logically.

“So, Greta, you have something all set for the weekly poetry section of the Smallville Torch yet? As your editor, I have a professional interest in knowing,” said Chloe, serious and somewhat lofty.

“I’m working on it,” said Greta, smiling with exasperated fondness. “Thanks for taking me in, by the way, Chloe. Investigative reporting and business sense are two of the only intellectual things I’m terrible at.”

“Eh. You write good opinion editorials and poems. And your grades speak for themselves. Your abilities just lie in other places,” said Chloe, shrugging.

“Your Dad still nervous?” Pete asked Chloe next.

“What, about CEO Lionel Luthor’s son Lex moving from Metropolis City to the manor here to run the Smallville Luthor Corp plant? Yeah, he’s the manager, I was afraid he was about to have a mental breakdown this morning,” said Chloe darkly, and Greta and Pete chuckled.

“Well, look at that. If it isn’t Smallville’s local whore.”

Greta gritted her teeth - and the three looked around. Felice Chandler was standing there with her posse.

“So, I see all the rats and snakes have crawled out from their holes for the day, Felice,” said Chloe sarcastically.

Felice walked until she stood right up close to Greta, who gritted her teeth and glared back.

“Can I help you with something?” Greta snapped frigidly. “Or are you just here to look in a mirror?”

It took a second for Felice to process the insult - she’d just called Greta a whore. Then Felice’s posse gasped, Felice shrieked and reached up a hand to slap Greta across the face - Greta steeled herself, prepared - a whole snickering crowd had gathered to watch -

And that was when a kinder cheerleader, Lana Lang, stormed right over and got between the two girls. “That’s enough!” she barked, for once her usual smiley, preppy school helper in an expensive sweater facade falling away. “This conversation is over!”

She glared at Felice - who obviously wanted to say something, but Lana was more popular than Felice. Felice scowled, backed away, harrumphed, swished her hair, and walked off.

“So is the show!” Chloe added for the benefit of the staring crowds, and they reluctantly dissipated. “Wow. Lana Lang uses her powers of popularity for good instead of evil,” said Chloe, impressed.

“I’m just glad I could help,” said Lana, still holding up her school function clipboard and smiling. Then she frowned in concern at Greta, who was flushed and sick-looking, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” she said sympathetically, “you okay?”

“It’s - it’s not Felice, it’s your necklace,” Greta forced out, seeing the green meteor rock pendant necklace gleaming around Lana’s neck. “Meteor rock, right? A… concerned aunt,” she took a glance down at her innocuous looking watch, “found out years ago I’m allergic to being around it. It’s a… ‘just me’ kind of thing. You… you shouldn’t be wearing it anyway, it’s… kind of radioactive? That’s why lead muffles its effects. No offense, but no one on Earth exactly knows what happened to that rock or where it comes from.”

Greta did, of course. It was filled with radioactive waste from her destroyed planet - hence its greenish tinge.

“I mean… for all we know that thing could be radioactive waste from a destroyed rock or something,” Greta said, smiling tiredly, pale.

“The green color definitely isn’t reassuring,” said Chloe, looking intent for reasons that openly confused Greta; she didn’t entirely understand Chloe’s interest in the meteor rock conversation.

“I got it… in the Smallville meteor shower when I was a toddler twelve years ago. It reminds me of my parents; they died in the shower,” said Lana, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” said Greta, genuinely sympathetic. 

“It’s not your fault,” said Lana. “But… maybe I shouldn’t be wearing it. Maybe it is dangerous.” Now she looked worried. She took off the green meteor rock necklace and put it away in her book bag - and Greta straightened with a sigh of relief, her color returning.

“Thanks,” said Greta.

“No problem,” said Lana, still looking concerned.

“Lana. There you are.” Lana’s senior quarterback boyfriend buff and blond Whitney Fordman was standing there.

Lana turned and smiled, and she and Whitney shared a long, makeout sort of kiss. Chloe, Pete, and Greta shared a secret exasperated smile and an eye-roll.

At last the couple pulled apart. “Hey, guys,” said Whitney absently, not looking at their group, and he kept talking to Lana. “I was wondering if you could do me a humongous favor. Could you look over my English paper? I didn’t finish it till two AM, so I’m not too sure about the ending.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” said Lana, smiling blissfully at Whitney.

“See you guys later,” said Greta wryly, and she walked off with her two far less popular best friends.

“No crush on senior star quarterback Whitney Fordman?” Chloe teased Greta, grinning. “Not sorry Lana’s going with him to the dance?”

“So they can be crowned Homecoming King and Queen, the height of pointless high school politics? Are you kidding me?” Greta grinned. “Besides, he’s an asshole and a little… intellectually challenged.”

“Fair point. Your bad taste in your string of ex boyfriends is nothing compared to the cripplingly horrible taste of preppy, overly nice cheerleader Lana Lang,” said Chloe, grinning.

“I have tryouts for the football team this afternoon,” said Pete. “So I can’t make it to our usual after-school coffee at the Beanery.”

“Fine by me, I have roller derby practice anyway,” said Greta.

“Leaving me to fend for myself, I see how it is,” Chloe joked. “Aww, man. Now I won’t get a drive back to my house in Greta’s car.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you guys have to take the bus,” said Greta in wry, good-natured amusement as the friends chuckled and they passed through the doors of the main high school building. The bell rang for homeroom.

-

Greta was walking off campus alone to her car at the end of the day.

“Fuck any guys on your way over?! Whitney Fordman might not want to get too close!” 

Felice was standing a ways off with her posse, grinning viciously. They giggled at everything she said.

“Don’t you have something to do besides hang around campus like an annoying wasp, Felice?” Greta asked, clenching her jaw, irritated.

“Hey, I’m just saying.” Felice shrugged. “Try not to pull anymore guys into your vortex of toxic ex relationships,” she added sweetly, smiling.

Greta flushed, annoyed, as she strode to her car, their laughter ringing in her ears behind her.

Next she was on the slanted roller derby rink, going through moves in full gear with nine other girls skating around the rink around her, four on her team and one a fake opposing team.

“Alright, Seltzer’s Skating Queens, let’s go, we have another game coming up soon!” one of their big female managers snapped from the center flat part of the rink. “No. 89! Kent! Zombie Stardust! You have to go faster, you’re our lead points scorer right now! Push through those blockers and get out in front!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Greta called, and she shoved a girl so hard the girl was pushed into the railing in order to get out in front.

Greta finished roller derby practice and drove the long back route home, still troubled by the ways Felice was bullying her - and how on target they were in the secret self conscious part of her brain she never let anyone see.

She stopped on a bridge overlooking the local woodsy river, parking off to the side of the road in the bike lane. She got out of the car, walked a ways down the bike lane, leaned against the railing, and stared silently out over the water in the quiet and the wind and the rushing sounds, troubled, frowning…

And she heard a squeal of tires.

She whirled around just as she saw a fancy Metropolis City sports car skid over a piece of debris on the road and swerve toward her. The male driver’s face was in a clear state of panic, cell phone still in hand; two sets of blue eyes locked as Greta instinctively froze in fear.

And then the car hit her and went through the railing after her, both her and the sports car with its driver gone as they flung themselves over the edge, toward the river below, and out of sight.

The completely ordinary part of Greta Kent’s life had just ended.


End file.
